Blowin' in the Wind
by Against Everything
Summary: AU Squinoa. Two revolutionary groups--one idealistic and peaceful, the other pragmatic and militant--rise up against a tyrannical regime. Do the ends justify the means or is one revolutionary group ultimately just as bad as the tyrant?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I own myself, and that's about it. I don't even own the computer I'm working at. So I definitely don't own Final Fantasy VIII. Or Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind," for that matter.

**A/N:** My first attempt at a fanfic! So, this is an AU story that follows what the plot of FF8 might have been had sorceresses not existed. This actually changes the story considerably; for example, since SeeD was formed to fight sorceresses, SeeD doesn't exist either. So, Squall, Zell, Quistis, Selphie, and Irvine don't work for SeeD; instead, they are all part of one of two revolutionary movements against the Galbadian government. Since this is an AU, some characters, especially the minor ones, might be kinda OOC. Please review.

**Content Warning:** Uh...violence? Maybe a little language? There's nothing too bad in this...it's just a short introductory chapter.

* * *

**Prologue **

"_How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? _

_How many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? _

_How many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? _

_The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind." _

--Bob Dylan, "Blowin' in the Wind"

Wedge sprang to his feet, shivering with raw fear, as he heard gunshots ring out much too close to the little room where his commanding officer had stationed him to guard the Galbadian missile base's main network server. The young draftee grabbed his rifle from the desk and positioned himself so that he had a clear view of the door. He heard distant footsteps in the corridor leading to the subterranean steel cave that he occupied. The rebels were drawing closer.

The soldier blinked as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead to his eyes and quickly glanced to a picture of a baby girl and her mother that he had contrived to attach to the back of his protective battle glove.

_Oh, Hyne,_ Wedge prayed. _Please let me survive this. I just want to see Emily and Lily again…_

The footsteps sounded much nearer now. Wedge heard a man scream out in pain as a sound ominously like that of a chainsaw rent the air for a split second. _Oh Hyne oh Hyne oh Hyne…_ he thought.

The footsteps had stopped. Wedge cautiously edged toward the metal door, squinting as his vision was momentarily obscured by the bright glare the fluorescent lighting cast upon the smooth surface.

Suddenly, the door flew open and a young man charged across into the room, holding a long blade attached to the handle and trigger mechanism of a gun in one hand. Wedge sent a spray of bullets in the rebel's direction, but panic ruined his aim, and the bullets harmlessly bounced off the thick steel ceiling.

The rebel crossed the room in two quick strides and plunged the gunblade into Wedge's chest.

Wedge gasped as he felt the cold metal slide between his ribs. The world seemed to slow down as he studied his killer. He was dressed in black jeans, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket with an odd fur lining across the top. He wore a chain around his neck, suspending a ring emblazoned with some sort of lion-like creature. The rebel's most striking feature, however, was his face; along the bridge of his nose, underneath his disheveled brown hair and between his cold, emotionless blue eyes, ran a long, thin scar.

The pain was excruciating at first, but it began to fade away as Wedge's vision darkened. Tears swam to his eyes. _Emily…_, he thought sadly,_ I'm sorry…I won't get to see our daughter's second birthday…_

Then the rebel pulled the gunblade's trigger and the same sound Wedge had heard--the brief, loud sound like that of a chainsaw--tore through his body as he left the world.

* * *

Squall watched calmly as his gunblade split the Galbadian soldier's body cleanly in half, easily pulling the weapon from what was left of the man's spinal cord. He walked past the bloody corpse and, setting his gunblade aside, stepped up to the base's mainframe, where he quickly followed the instructions he had memorized a week before. When he finished, he entered a final command, cutting the base's power.

As the lights suddenly went dark, Squall reached down to his belt and drew forth his radio. Holding it to his lips, he said, "You're all clear, Commander, sir."

A crisp, military voice issued from the radio. "Good work, Lieutenant Leonhart. Withdraw."

"Affirmative," Squall replied. "Thank you, sir." He clipped the radio back on his belt and turned to leave just in time to see another Galbadian soldier rush in, panting. He raised his rifle threateningly, but had a fearful look in his eyes.

"Drop to the floor!" the soldier screamed. Squall's eyes flicked to his left, where he had set his blood-soaked gunblade before using the mainframe to shut down the base research area's security systems. He would never reach it in time. He nodded and slowly lowered himself to his knees, interlocking his hands behind his head.

"Face down!" the soldier yelled, stepping forward. His eyes still showed his terror as he eyed the mangled body of his fallen comrade. As he took another step, a shot rang out. Squall raised his head back up and saw the soldier's eyes widen as his hand moved to touch his neck. The soldier pulled the hand away and gasped, seeing his hand covered in his own blood. He toppled over and lay still.

Behind him stood a tall, young man holding a double-barreled shotgun. He wore a long leather coat and black cowboy hat, and had his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. At the moment, his mouth was open, and he was staring shakily at the man he had just shot.

Squall rolled his eyes as he rose from his position on the floor. "Pull yourself together, Kinneas," he ordered curtly.

"Umm…yes, sir, Lieutenant," Kinneas responded, lowering his weapon. He still sounded shaky, but his cocky grin was beginning to replace the stunned expression of a few seconds before on his face.

Squall grabbed his gunblade, crossed the small room, and leaned down to wipe the blood off on the dead soldier's uniform. "Where's Dincht?" he asked Kinneas in the process.

"Zell--I mean Corporal Dincht--is guarding our exit route," Kinneas answered.

"Good," Squall said, nodding and standing up. "We're done here. Time to withdraw."

Squall strode out into the connecting corridor without giving the two dead bodies a second glance. Kinneas started to do the same, but couldn't stop himself from looking back. A shiver ran down his spine.

_Goddamn,_ he thought to himself as he eyed the one Squall had cut in half with his gunblade. He felt more than a little queasy.

Kinneas quickly turned away and hurried out of the room, leaving the dead soldiers where they lay.


	2. Ch I: Celebration

**Disclaimer:** I own myself, and that's about it. I don't even own the computer that I'm working at, so I definitely don't own "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" by Black Sabbath, Final Fantasy VIII, or any of the characters in this story.

**A/N: **So here it is, my first full-length chapter, complete with introductions to almost every major character in the story. Please read and review.

**Content Warnings: **Swearing and some violence._**  
**_

* * *

_** Part One: War**_

**Celebration**

"_The people who have crippled you, you wanna see them burn_

_The gates of life have closed on you and there's just no return_

_You're wishing that the hands of doom could take your mind away_

_And you don't care if you don't see again the light of day…"_

--Black Sabbath, "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath"

Squall threw his gunblade case down on the cold stone floor of his private room in the Winhill Liberation Army's underground barracks. He looked at his hands; they were trembling uncontrollably, just like the rest of his body. He tried in vain to calm himself for a few moments and then, feeling the bile rise in his throat, rushed over to the wash basin in the open bathroom.

The mission had been a complete success. His actions had allowed the commander to lead his strike force into the depths of Galbadia's main missile base and steal the prototype of the government's newest secret weapon, the X-ATM092. This was a major blow to the Deling administration; according to intelligence, they had poured millions of gil into the mechanical monstrosity. Winhill's liberation from Galbadian rule--the goal of the WLA--had never seemed nearer; indeed, the commander had decided that today's victory warranted a celebration.

_So why the hell do I feel like puking my guts out right now? _Squall asked himself, clutching the sides of the metal wash basin.

He knew exactly why, though. He could try to pretend he didn't, but it wouldn't change the facts. He knew.

_That soldier…he looked so terrified… _He shook his head, trying to block out the memory. _He had tears in his eyes and he screamed out a name. Emily. Just before I pulled that trigger and sliced through his heart…_

_No! Stop it, Squall! _His knuckles turned white as he gripped the wash basin's sharp edges harder._ Just shut the fuck up! You know goddamn well that you did what you fucking had to do. This is war._

He gasped as he suddenly felt a sharp pain in the palms of his hands. Still shaking, he wrenched them away from the wash basin and turned his wrists so he could see his palms. They both had long, shallow cuts along them, and were oozing blood.

He sat down heavily on his cot, slipping off his jacket tearing of two strips of cloth from his shirt to wrap around his hands as bandages. Then, exhausted, he stretched out on the cot and felt himself drift off into an uneasy sleep, the dead soldier's face still lingering in his thoughts….

* * *

"_Raine!" shouted the tall, dark-haired man as he barreled into the pub through the door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. He was carrying a machine gun and bore a panicked look on his face._

_A woman quickly rose up from behind the bar, looking shocked. "Laguna?! What is it?!" she half-asked, half-exclaimed._

_Laguna rushed forward, vaulted over the bar, and wrapped his arms around her, still holding the gun. "Where are Ellone and Squall? We have to go. Now." _

_Raine's eyes widened in sudden understanding just as a small child, no more than two years old, scrambled out from a nearby door, crying, "Mommy! Sis just took my--"_

"_Shhh," Raine hushed the brown-haired toddler after disengaging herself from Laguna's hug. "Listen, Squally. Mommy and Daddy and Elley and you are all about to go take a little vacation, okay? Now, Mommy needs you to get Elley and bring her in here. Can you do that for me, Squally?"_

_Squall looked at her, wide-eyed, and nodded his head rapidly. Then, he spun around and ran back through the door he had emerged from previously, yelling, "Sis! Mommy needs you!"_

_A young girl, six or seven years old, was sitting on a sofa and clutching a teddy bear when Squall came back into the room. "No-no-no!" she cried, hugging the bear tighter. "I'm not giving this back to you, Squall! It's mine!"_

"_No! Mine!" Squall cried back, forgetting his mother's command as he grabbed hold of one of the bear's legs and started to tug. The girl squealed and started pulling back just as Raine entered the room._

"_Squall! Ellone!" she yelled sharply. "Stop it and get out here!" Both children let go of the bear at the same time, meekly complying._

_Raine ushered Squall and Ellone out of the room while Laguna waited by the pub's exit, tapping one foot nervously on the ground. Ellone's eyes fell on the gun slung over Laguna's shoulder and she started to shake and cry._

"_Aw, c'mon, Elle," Laguna sighed, abandoning his position to kneel down next to the weeping girl and curl his free arm around her. "Everything's gonna be alright." Once Ellone had calmed down, Laguna stood up, leaned toward Raine, and said softly in her ear, "The Galbadians are searching the whole village. It'll take them time to reach our house, but we need to hurry."_

_Raine nodded, looking pale as she lightly grabbed Squall's hand and pulled him toward the door. The two-year-old looked very confused._

_The family filed out silently into the cobblestone main street of Winhill, Laguna leading the way. He surveyed the surroundings and seemed relieved to see the nearest Galbadian soldiers in view walk into a building near the front of town. Motioning Raine and the children to follow him, he led the way past their home and through a thin alleyway between the governor's mansion and the general store. Squall and Ellone stayed silent the whole time, feeling the importance of what was happening even if neither really understood it._

_The alley led around to the back of the mansion. Laguna rapped three times on the back entrance and waited, looking from side to side nervously to assure himself that the Galbadians hadn't noticed them._

_After a time that was probably less than a minute but felt like years, the door swung opened and a light shone out of the hole in the brick expanse of the mansion's back wall. A tall, tired-looking man--the governor--emerged and beckoned the family inside, running one hand through his wispy gray hair as they obeyed. He quickly shut the door behind them, latching it._

"_Thank you so much, Frank," Laguna said warmly, extending his hand for Frank to take it. The governor looked at it for a long moment, then slowly shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes._

"_I'm sorry, Laguna…" Frank whispered. "I'm so sorry…I didn't have a choice…"_

"_Good evening, Mr. Loire," a new voice said crisply. Laguna spun around, a shocked expression on his face, as a tall, heavily muscled, raven-haired man in a military officer's uniform stepped out from behind a staircase with three armed Galbadian soldiers trailing closely behind. Laguna looked back at Frank with a look of dawning horror in his eyes._

"_You…you led us right to them?" he asked quietly. "You sold us out?"_

"_Listen, Laguna--" the governor began._

"_YOU BASTARD!" Laguna yelled, launching himself toward his former friend._

"_LAGUNA, STOP!" Raine shrieked, reaching out to grab his arm. He shook her off easily and tackled the terrified governor, choking him with both hands._

"_Laguna…I'm…sorry…" Frank wheezed desperately. "They…they threatened me…" Laguna suddenly let go and stood up, staring down at the governor in pure disgust._

"_So you decided to use _my _family to save yourself?" Laguna asked. "Fuck you, Frank. FUCK YOU!" He drew a deep breath and turned away to address the Galbadian officer, ignoring Raine as she gasped tried to cover both children's ears with her two hands._

"_Who are you and what do you want with us?" Laguna asked angrily._

"_My name is Colonel Rhys Caraway," the officer replied. "And you know very well what we want. You've given the government a good deal of trouble since Winhill surrendered to Galbadia two years ago, Mr. Loire." There was not a trace of triumph in the colonel's eyes. In fact, he almost looked sad._

_Laguna laughed. "Yeah, that I have," he said bitterly. He dropped his weapon, knelt down to the ground, and held his hands in the air theatrically. "So take me! Send me to rot in prison for the rest of my life! But…." He paused. "Let my family go."_

_Caraway seemed to consider. He looked at Raine's tear-stained, disbelieving face, and sighed. "Very well. Biggs, secure Loire."_

"_Yes, sir!" Biggs quickly walked to Laguna, bound his hands together with handcuffs, and prodded him with the butt of his rifle so he would stand up._

_As soon as Laguna was restrained and safely in the custody of one of his guards, Caraway added, "And the girl."_

"_WHAT?" Laguna exclaimed, looking furiously at Caraway while his wife cried out, embracing Ellone and glaring murderously at Biggs as he produced a second pair of handcuffs. Squall's mouth hung open as he watched the scene unfold._

"_Mr. Loire, I have my orders," Caraway said resignedly. "I must follow them. President Deling wants your daughter for research purposes, and I am in his service."_

"_But…but you said…" Laguna stuttered, as though he could hardly believe what he had just heard. Frank uttered a few words of protest as well, but quickly fell silent and slunk further into the corner Laguna had backed him into once the soldiers began approaching Ellone._

"_Mommy?" Ellone asked, gazing up at her mother with big eyes. "What's going on?"_

_Raine broke down, pulling Ellone closer to herself and staring at Biggs with raw hatred as he stood over her. "No…" she said, her voice rising in volume and pitch, "no…no…No…NO! I WON'T LET YOU TAKE MY DAUGHTER!" She threw herself at Biggs, who tumbled over, caught off guard by Raine's sudden violence. She initiated a frenzy of slapping, leaving red marks on Biggs' face with each hit. Finally, panting, he pushed her off, and she rolled over near where Laguna had dropped his gun._

_Time slowed to a crawl as Squall saw the eyes of the only soldier still standing by Colonel Caraway widen. He saw the soldier raise his weapon and point it toward Raine as she tumbled closer and closer to the fallen machine gun. He saw Caraway jerk his head, open his mouth, and reach out to grab the soldier's arm. He saw the soldier's finger tighten on the trigger._

_He saw the five bullets explode from the maw of the killing machine and lift his mother off the ground, tossing her toward the wall as they buried themselves in her arms, chest, and skull._

_He saw the blood pour freely from her wounds and he saw her blink, surprised, as the life left her body._

* * *

Squall awoke covered in sweat, the blood-soaked bandages slipping from the now-closed wounds on his palm to his wrist as he pushed himself upright. He lurched off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, shedding the bandages along with his clothing as he walked. He stepped into the shower stall and drew the curtain, leaning against the wall for a moment before turning the water on. Feeling the cold spray wash over him, he sank to the floor and wept.

"_I thought she was going for the gun."_

That had been how the soldier had explained his actions. He had been scared.

Scared of a short brunette woman who ran a pub, kept flowers, and had two children.

So he had killed her.

Squall fiercely wiped the tears from his face, clutching the ring that was still chained around his neck with one hand. No, he couldn't feel any sympathy for the Galbadians. Not even the soldier he had killed today. Not after they had stolen his childhood from him. Not after they had killed his mother, imprisoned his father, kidnapped his sister, and left him with that…that _man_….

He sighed and pulled part of the shower curtain back, looking at the clock hung by some great technological achievement on the solid stone wall. He started; he had slept through half the day, and the victory celebration was in an hour! Normally, he wouldn't have attended, but the commander had personally ordered him to do just that. He had to pull himself together, and fast.

He stood, stepped out of the shower, and dressed himself in his WLA uniform. By the time he emerged from his private officer's quarters half an hour later, all signs of his emotional outburst had been wiped cleanly away. He was once again the fearless and callous Lieutenant Squall Leonhart.

* * *

"Selphie!" the blonde-haired rebel soldier moaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is too cruel."

The brown-haired girl he was talking to laughed. "Aww, Zell, I'm sorry. If you really want it…." Zell looked up hopefully as Selphie tauntingly waved the hot dog in his face, then took another bite, saying through a mouthful, "You snooze, you lose."

"But they _never_ make hot dogs here!" Zell pleaded in desperation. "Come on…just one bite."

Selphie swallowed her mouthful and considered. "Well…maybe just _one_."

Zell leaned forward eagerly….

…and Selphie jumped up from the table, popping the last bit of the hot dog in her mouth and squealing. Zell looked crestfallen.

"You know, Corporal Dincht," a blonde woman said, walking up and setting her small bowl of salad and champagne glass on Zell and Selphie's table in a sophisticated manner, "you could have shown up a little earlier and gotten all the hot dogs you wanted."

Zell looked at her, wearing a pained expression. "Quistis, stop…I already feel bad enough as it is." Quistis shrugged and took a small sip from her champagne glass just as someone else walked up.

"Howdy, my fellow revolutionaries," Irvine Kinneas said, pulling up a chair, sitting down, and grinning at Selphie and Quistis. Selphie rolled her eyes; Quistis just pretended she didn't notice.

"Oh yeah, Zell," Irvine added, "I got somethin' for ya." Still grinning, he produced a small cardboard box and tossed it toward Zell, who caught it.

"Is this what I think it is?" Zell asked, his despondency a thing of the past. He carefully opened the box. "YES!" he exclaimed, pulling a hot dog out of it and raising it triumphantly above his head. He beamed at Irvine. "You, Corporal, are the best friend in the world."

"Oh, thanks a--hey! Get off!" Irvine's smile turned to a look of embarrassment as Zell threw his arms around him.

"Sure," Zell replied, disengaging from the hug to shove the entire hot dog into his mouth. Quistis looked faintly sick. Selphie wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ugh," Selphie sniffed, averting her eyes, looking around the ballroom that, like the rest of the base, had been carved out of an existing series of caves and tunnels underneath the cliffs northeast of Winhill so as to allow the WLA to avoid detection by the Galbadian government. She looked at the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling and cast a soft light throughout the large room, completely unlike the harsh fluorescent lighting that illuminated the rest of the base; she looked at the intricate designs and emblems that adorned the walls and the columns that ran from ceiling to floor, setting the ballroom apart even more from the Spartan rest of the base; she looked at the smooth dance floor that was entirely free of tables; she looked, in other words, anywhere except at Zell. Then, her eyes widened as they fell on the soldier skulking alone in a corner, appraising the room with a look of utter boredom on his face.

"Quistis! Everybody!" she said in a needless whisper; there was no way he could have heard them from halfway across the room anyway. "Look who it is!"

Irvine's jaw dropped as he followed her gaze and spotted the soldier. "Well, well…Squall Leonhart," he grinned. "Isn't he a regular party animal."

"Mmwhrtnmph," Zell grunted, still chewing on the hot dog.

"I never thought I'd see this day," Quistis said quietly, a soft smile playing across her lips. They all stared at Squall for at least a minute. They would have stared longer, but the sound of an electric guitar suddenly erupted in the air; the cue that the meal was over and the dance had begun. Every person in the room--over a hundred WLA members--stood as one and made their way onto the dance floor.

* * *

Squall leaned back against a column and surveyed the crowd of people moving to the sound of drums and guitars. He liked the song, but there was no way he was getting out on that dance floor, no matter what the commander had said. He wasn't interested in humiliating himself in front of the entire WLA.

At that moment, he realized just how uncomfortably close he _was_ to the dance floor. He was about to move away when he spotted a girl staring at him from the floor. He stared back darkly, hoping she would get the message that he _really_ didn't want anything to do with this party. Instead, she blushed and, after excusing herself from her present company, started to walk straight toward him.

_Shit_, he thought, watching as her raven hair floated behind her. _Shit, shit, shit._ She was wearing a cream-colored that clung lightly to her figure and was held up by a strap that wrapped around her neck from the front, leaving the back bare. _What am I supposed to do? I really need to get out of here…. _

Before he could make up his mind, she had reached him. She stopped right in front of him and put her hands behind her back, tilting her head up to look into his eyes; she was a full head shorter than him.

"You're the best-looking guy here," she said, smiling. Her chocolate eyes had a cheerful glint to them. "Dance with me?"

_What?_ he thought confusedly. _How am I the best-looking guy here? What do I say?_ He realized that she was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. He tried to say no, but his mouth was momentarily paralyzed.

She sighed theatrically, but the cheerful look hadn't left her eyes. "Let me guess, you'll only dance with someone you like, right? Okay, then…." She leaned in closer, furrowing her brow.

_What is she doing?_ Squall thought. He was starting to get annoyed.

Then, she started waving her hand rhythmically in front of his face and, in a voice that was clearly meant to be hypnotic but wasn't because it was quivering with suppressed laughter, said, "You're-going-to-like-me…you're-going-to-like-me…you're-going-to-like-me."_You've got to be kidding me_. She leaned back then, tilting her head inquisitively, and asked, "Did it work?"

_What is wrong with this girl?_ Squall thought irritably. _Can't she see I don't want to dance?_

"…I can't dance," he finally said, hoping that she would finally get the message.

She didn't. Instead, she grabbed his arm, grinning from ear to ear, and started to drag him toward the dance floor. "You'll be fine," she said confidently. "C'mon, I'm looking for someone; I can't be on the dance floor alone!"

Squall tried to struggle, but he was too taken aback by what was happening to put up much of a fight. Before he knew it, they were in the middle of the dance floor and the girl was spinning around and firmly guiding one of his hands to her waist while hoisting the other into the air above them. Exasperated but somewhat curious by now, Squall thought, _Who is this girl? _as the pair began to move with the music.

As if she had read his mind, she suddenly said, "I'm Rinoa, by the way. Rinoa Heartilly."

Squall looked at her face, slightly puzzled. _Heartilly…_, he thought. _I've heard that name before. But where? _He searched his memory for several seconds, but, for once, it had failed him.

Rinoa interrupted his thoughts by suddenly stopping in the middle of the song, letting go of Squall's hand to put her own hands on her hips and glaring into his eyes.

"Y'know," she said fiercely, "when someone _introduces_ herself to you, it's polite to _return the favor._"

_What is she talking about?_ he wondered. Then he realized. "Oh, right, uh…sorry," he muttered. "I'm Squall, I mean, Lieutenant Leonhart."

She giggled and took his hand again as a new song started. "Well, Squall," she said as she twirled and he instinctively raised his arm to allow her to complete her pirouette, "you know what you are? You're a liar."

_Huh?_ he thought, now more than a little angry. _Where the hell did that come from?_

"What?" he said shortly, staring her in the eye in what he thought was an intimidating manner.

She was completely unfazed. In fact, she laughed, singing "Liar! Liar! Liarliarliar!"

"How am I a liar?" he growled. He didn't usually talk this much, but this girl was really starting to get on his nerves.

The song came to an end and she stopped moving, breathless and flushed. She beamed at him. "You lied to me. You _can _dance!"

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me_. Realizing that she had released him when the song ended, he took the opportunity to turn and quickly walk away.

"Hey!" she called after him, puzzled by his reaction to the compliment. "I was being serious!"

"Whatever," he called back. She tried to follow him, but he quickly lost her in the crowd.

_And thank Hyne for that_, Squall thought. He made his way off the dance floor, ignoring the scandalized looks that the dancing couples shot him whenever he got in one's way. He finally made it to a clear spot and leaned against a nearby column to gather his breath.

He didn't have a chance to, though.

At that moment, he heard an all-too-familiar voice call his name. "Leonhart! The commander wants to see you. He says it's urgent."

Squall turned around to face the source of the voice and nodded curtly at the blonde soldier, saying, "Why, thank you, Almasy."

**A/N: Alright, that's all for today, folks. I just got my first "Author Alert!" I haven't gotten any reviews yet, though, so please, if you're reading this, WRITE SOMETHING! Tell me what you like and don't like so I can fix it. The more reviews I get, the happier I'll be and the more motivated I'll be to get the next chapter done quickly. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	3. Ch II: The Lone Lion

**Disclaimer: **I own myself, and that's about it. Actually, now I _do_ own the computer that I'm working at too. Still, I definitely don't own "One" by Three Dog Night, Final Fantasy VIII, or any of the characters in this story. Well, except Commander Melbourne. He's mine.

**A/N: **I'd like to thank my first reviewers: Renegade Seraph, Midnightcatch, oblivian reb, and REM7. Thanks a lot, guys! Well, ask and ye shall receive; here's the next chapter. Except for the beginning, it mostly follows Rinoa.

**Content Warnings: **This is a pretty tame chapter. No violence, just a little mild language.

* * *

**The Lone Lion**

"_One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do._

_Two can be as bad as one,_

_It's the loneliest number since the number one…"_

--Three Dog Night, "One"

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep the commander waiting," Squall said, eager to get away from the party. He started to walk away, but Lieutenant Almasy quickly stepped into an archway in front of him, an insufferable smirk on his face.

"Never thought I'd see _you _of all people around one of these things," Almasy said casually, stretching both arms to lean against the sides of the archway and deliberately block Squall's most obvious route out. Squall was tempted to simply go around, but he decided to take the mature course of action and find out what Almasy wanted.

He folded his arms, sighed, and asked bluntly, "What do you want, Seifer?"

Seifer Almasy's smirk grew more pronounced. "Oh, nothing, really. I just noticed that you were dancing with my ex-girlfriend and wondered if you wanted a few…tips."

Squall's face almost turned red with embarrassment. Almost. "Who? The Heartilly girl?" Somehow, he couldn't see Rinoa with a guy like Almasy.

"Yeah, isn't she something?" The look on Almasy's face made Squall want to punch him. "Quite a handful. Ah, the memories…."

Squall felt a twinge of curiosity now and opened his mouth to ask Almasy what had happened. He mentally shook himself. _Why do I even care? And why I am I still talking to Seifer, anyway?_

Squall faked a yawn and said as blandly as he could, "Well, Almasy, if all you're going to do is brag about your conquests, I've got somewhere to be." With that, he pushed his way past Almasy before he could react and melted into the crowd, making for the entrance.

Seifer watched Squall's retreating form, the smirk gone from his face. "Someone's got his panties in a twist," he muttered before spotting two of his friends standing where Squall's head had been moments before. He raised his voice. "Fujin, Raijin! Over here!"

* * *

Rinoa plopped down at an empty table and laid her head flat on its cool surface, feeling exhausted from both the train ride to Winhill and the dance. The dance was still in full swing, but she had quickly tired of it after that rebel officer Squall had suddenly left. Now, all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep.

Or at least, she did until she felt something large and heavy run into her. Opening her eyes quickly, she saw a young WLA soldier with blonde hair and an enormous tattoo on the left side of his face. He stumbled backward.

"S-sorry," he stuttered, before tripping over a leg of her chair and collapsing onto the floor. "Oww…"

Rinoa laughed. _He looks more than a little drunk…_ She reached out her hand, still laughing, helped him up, and guided him safely to a chair. He gratefully folded into it.

"Thanks," he mumbled. Embarrassment was starting to take over, making him stare at the floor. Rinoa shook her head and smiled radiantly.

"I'm Rinoa Heartilly," she said warmly, extending her hand.

He shook it, his face beet red, and mumbled, "Zell Dincht."

Rinoa was just about to ask the intoxicated rebel more about himself when she heard a voice call out, "Zell!" She turned around in her chair and saw a brunette rebel girl run up to the table, concerned for her friend.

"'M okay," Zell mumbled. He put one palm against his head. "Be better when the room stops spinning."

Reassured that Zell was alright, the girl turned to Rinoa. "Did you help him into the chair?" she asked. Rinoa nodded. "Thought so. He doesn't hold liquor very well. I'm Selphie Tilmitt, by the way--excuse me,_ Corporal_ Selphie Tilmitt," she added, rolling her eyes at the official-sounding title. Rinoa giggled and introduced herself.

"Rinoa Heartilly," Selphie said thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling. "Nope, never heard of you. And you're not in uniform. Are you, like…_not_ WLA?"

Rinoa shook her head. "No, I'm with another resistance group, the Timber Forest Owls. I came here to speak with the commander, but he was busy and couldn't see me till morning, so…here I am."

Selphie had stopped listening. She stood up and waved at someone across the room. "Irvy! Quistis! OVER HERE!" she called out. Rinoa craned her neck to see two uniformed WLA members walk up, a man and a woman. The man had conspicuously long, brown hair tied back in a pony tail under a dark Stetson cowboy hat, exuding a casual air. The woman, by contrast, had perfectly arranged blonde hair, with not a strand out of place. She stood very straight.

"This is Rinoa," Selphie said, introducing Rinoa to her two friends. Rinoa looked toward the floor, suddenly feeling very shy.

"How do you do," the woman said politely to Rinoa as they lightly shook hands. "I am Corporal Quistis Trepe." Quistis smoothed down her uniform and gracefully sat down. The man approached her next.

"Howdy," the cowboy grinned. "Irvine Kinneas. Hope you don't mind," he added, sinking into the chair between Rinoa and Selphie and smiling cockily at Selphie, who rolled her eyes. Rinoa giggled.

With the introductions complete, the three friends--well, four if you counted Zell, but since he was out cold, you really couldn't count him--began talking among themselves, leaving Rinoa feeling rather left out. She glanced around at all of them as they laughed and, when a break in the conversation arrived, cleared her throat.

"So…you all know each other pretty well, huh?" Rinoa asked, mentally cursing herself for asking such a stupid question. _They've probably been fighting together in the WLA for years; of course they all know each other._

"Sure do," Irvine answered brightly, seeming not to notice her stupidity. "We're all in the same squad."

"Really?" Rinoa was interested. _Maybe it wasn't such a stupid question after all…_

"Yep," Irvine nodded, gesturing around him. "You're looking at the famed Squad Lion Heart, led by none other than the Lone Lion of the revolution himself, the great Squall Leonhart!"

Selphie snorted at the last comment's sarcastic tone, and Quistis smiled slightly. Zell, whose hangover was apparently already setting in, peeked at Irvine from over his arm and gave him a murderous look that seemed to say, _Keep it down! My head hurts!_ Rinoa, meanwhile, was just confused.

"Do you all not like Sq--Lieutenant Leonhart?" Rinoa asked, puzzled.

Selphie sighed. "It's not that we don't like him," she explained.

Quistis nodded. "He's an excellent soldier."

Irvine bobbed his head up and down even more fervently than Quistis. "Yeah, and a great leader, and a loyal follower, and the sort of person that could inspire you to follow him to hell and spend a few weeks in the hotels there."

"So what's the problem?" Rinoa asked.

"Well…" Irvine seemed to be at a lost for words. "It's like…he can sometimes be a bit of a--"

"--jerk?" Selphie finished.

Irvine chuckled. "I was gonna say '_hardass,' _but 'jerk' works fine too," he said, surreptitiously putting his arm on Selphie's shoulder. She didn't object.

"What do you mean?" Rinoa asked, hoping they weren't getting tired of all these questions. Something about the rebel officer had intrigued her, though. She needed to know more about him.

"He doesn't really like talking to people," Quistis spoke up.

"Yeah," Selphie agreed. She leaned toward Rinoa, causing Irvine's arm to slide off hers and Irvine himself to look very disappointed. "Talking to him can be like trying to get a cow to stand up and do cartwheels."

Rinoa took a moment to digest that information. That didn't sound much like the Squall she had just danced with. Sure, he had been sort of standoffish at first and in the end, but he had seemed to loosen up with her quite a bit.

"I don't know," she said slowly, wondering if it was wise to tell Squall's friends this. "He didn't seem too bad when I danced with him--"

Had Selphie had a drink, she would have spat it out. Instead, she, along with everyone else at the table--even Zell, who was rubbing his temples and wincing--shot straight up, looking at Rinoa with a certain degree of reverence.

"You did _what_ with him?" Selphie whispered as Irvine's jaw hit the table in shock. Even Quistis looked somewhat shaken.

"Danced," Rinoa answered uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but…is this a big deal or something?"

"A big deal!" Selphie snorted, amazed. "A big deal! Holy shit, Rinoa. Squall…_doesn't _dance. Period."

"Yes, he's very reserved," Quistis agreed.

"This was the first WLA celebration I'd ever even _seen _him at," Irvine added.

Rinoa didn't know what to say, but was spared the trouble of thinking of something when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around gratefully, then wished she hadn't.

"Hello, Seifer," she said coolly.

"Hey there, Rinoa," Seifer smirked back, folding his arms as he towered over her. "Miss me?"

"In your dreams," Rinoa replied, appraising Seifer's two followers to avoid his gaze. She recognized both of them; the silver-haired woman who wore an eye patch was called Fujin and the dark-skinned, muscle-bound man was called Raijin.

Rinoa noticed that the atmosphere around the table had cooled considerably and realized that her new friends didn't care much for Seifer and his gang either.

This didn't seem to matter to Raijin, who quickly spoke up. "Ya hurt Seifer bad when ya left him, ya know? Ya shoulda given him a chance, ya know?" He howled as Fujin kicked him.

"QUIET," the woman hissed. She turned attentively toward Seifer, awaiting instructions.

Seifer shrugged, his smirk still reserved solely for Rinoa. "I _know_ you miss me, baby," he said arrogantly. "Why else would you have come all the way here from Timber?"

"Contrary to what you seem to think, I have a job to do too," Rinoa answered, gritting her teeth. _How could I have ever fallen for this dickhead?_ "I'm here to talk to your commander."

"Oh, so _that _was what that was about," Seifer said, rolling his eyes. Rinoa stiffened.

"What _what _was about?"

"The Commander sent word for you to come to his office about twenty minutes ago," Seifer answered nonchalantly.

"_Twenty minutes?_" Rinoa shrieked, jumping to her feet as the entire table turned to her in shock. "Why didn't you _tell _me_ sooner_? You…you…you _asshole_!" With that, she dashed away, leaving her friends staring after her, slack-jawed.

"BITCH," Fujin muttered. Selphie stood up angrily.

"_What_ did you just call her?" Selphie demanded as Raijin tensed and Quistis laid a calming hand on her arm.

"Let it go, Selphie," Quistis said quietly. "Let's just get out of here."

With one last angry glare at Seifer's gang, Selphie turned and huffily strode toward the ballroom's exit, followed by Quistis, Irvine, and Zell, the former two supporting the latter as he staggered away.

* * *

Rinoa had no clue where she was going; she simply ran desperately down the labyrinthine corridor's of the WLA's underground base, searching vainly for the commander's office. She didn't even know what it would look like when she found it. Worse, everyone seemed to be in the ballroom, so she didn't seem likely to run into anyone to help her…

And then, through some unimaginable stroke of pure luck, she rounded a corner and saw it: a metal door, just like any other door in the long corridors except for the fact that it bore a small wooden plaque at eye level that read, "Commander James Melbourne."

She skidded to a stop in front of the door to catch her breath, gulped nervously, and pushed it open.

As she stepped in, she saw a tall man in his early fifties rise from behind a desk and extend a tan hand. She stepped forward and took it, flushing red as she realized he had been waiting for her to arrive.

The man--Rinoa assumed he was Commander Melbourne--had short graying brown hair and a slightly lined face, but he was still very fit and was powerfully built. He wore the same uniform the rest of the WLA was wearing, with the exception that his bore a golden star on the lapel: a symbol of his authority. His sharp gray eyes surveyed her as they shook hands.

"Rinoa Heartilly of the Forest Owls, I presume?" he said in authoritative, clear voice.

Rinoa nodded shyly. "Yes, sir."

"I am James Melbourne, Commander of the Winhill Liberation Army." He turned his gaze to the corner of the room, over her shoulder. "And this is Lieutenant Squall Leonhart, also of the Winhill Liberation Army."

Rinoa jerked her head, surprised. She had not seen Squall when she had come in, but sure enough, there he was, skulking in the corner, still in uniform. She smiled at him.

"We've met," Squall said simply to the commander, ignoring her.

"I see," Melbourne nodded. "Well, then we can get right down to business." He sat back down behind the neat, practically bare desk and folded his hands in front of him. "I understand you have some information for us?"

Rinoa took a deep breath. "Yes, sir." She looked for a place to sit and, seeing none, nervously wrapped her hands together behind her back and began.

"When Galbadia went to war with Esthar eighteen years ago, it seized control of most of this continent, including the nations of Timber and Winhill, ostensibly to protect them from invasion. However, one nation resisted Galbadian domination: the dukedom of Dollet.

"Because the Galbadians were preoccupied with the war with Esthar, they chose to wait to try to force their rule on Dollet until Esthar was defeated, as its relative isolation made it strategically useless against Esthar. Galbadia went on to conquer Trabia in its long march toward Esthar. However, they were thwarted by Esthar's superior defensive technology.

"While the Estharians did not have the manpower to actually defeat Galbadia, Esthar was able to stop them from taking over. Since then, the warring nations have existed in a relative stalemate, with a portion of the Galbadian army encamped on Esthar's northern border. So, although in name the war still continues, in fact neither nation devotes many resources to the war effort anymore.

"This chain of events led to the political structure of the world today. The two superpowers of Galbadia and Esthar control most of the planet, with the small continent of Balamb, the isolated island of Fisherman's Horizon, and the sparsely populated wasteland of Centra remaining independent. Meanwhile, the dukedom of Dollet is the last region on this continent that is not controlled by Galbadia."

"We know all this already, Heartilly," Melbourne cut in softly, his voice still crisp and professional but his eyes piercing Rinoa like daggers. Rinoa gulped. _I'd better make this quick_.

"Yes, sir," she stammered, her face a dark shade of red by now. "But it's very important to keep all this in mind because, you see, Galbadia's attention isn't on Esthar anymore. Actually, they've mostly given up on conquering Esthar by now. They're moving to consolidate their power at home and they've laid siege to Dollet."

Melbourne shrugged. "What does this have to do with us?"

Rinoa was relieved to see that the commander's attitude had softened slightly. She continued somewhat more confidently. "A short time ago, some private businessmen built the continent's first long-range radio broadcast tower--something only Esthar had before--in Dollet."

Rinoa could almost see the gears turning in the commander's head as he reflected on this information. His eyes widened slightly. "And if the Galbadians gain control of that tower…"

Rinoa nodded. "The military will be able to communicate quickly and easily with its soldiers. One of the Galbadians' biggest weaknesses has been that their massive army relies on telegraph wires to communicate, making it difficult for them to coordinate effectively."

"We've been exploiting that weakness for years," Melbourne mused. "Very well. I assume you were sent to request our assistance in breaking the siege on Dollet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Unfortunately, I can only really spare one squad at the moment." His gaze turned to Squall. "So, I had better give you my best. I trust you have no objections, Lieutenant?"

Squall snapped to attention. "No, sir."

"Good," Melbourne said. "Miss Heartilly, you are dismissed."

_Oh thank Hyne,_ Rinoa thought, practically running out of the room. The last words she heard as the door swung shut behind her were, "Stay a moment, Lieutenant. I'd like a word with you…"

* * *

Melbourne eyed Squall carefully, trying to gauge what his reaction would be to what he was about to say. _His problem_, Melbourne though irritably, _is that he's so goddamn hard to read._ _I'd much rather send Almasy to do this, he's much more predictable. But I know I'll need him very soon. Ah, well. I'll have to risk it._

Melbourne wasn't particularly worried, though. He was almost certain Squall would follow any order he was given.

"Lieutenant," Melbourne began, searching for the proper wording. "You understand how important it is that this technology not fall into Galbadian hands, correct?"

Still at attention, Squall quickly replied, "Yes, sir."

_Good._ "And you understand that it must be kept from them by any means necessary?"

"Yes, sir."

_He has a rather limited vocabulary_, Melbourne observed dryly. "Very well. Here are your orders, then: you will take your squad and accompany Miss Heartilly to Dollet. You will assist her in attempting to break the Galbadian siege by any means you deem necessary. And, if at any point you realize the Galbadians cannot be stopped…" He paused for effect.

"You will immediately, no matter what objections Miss Heartilly may raise and no matter how many civilians may be inside, destroy the communications tower."

Melbourne waited for the objections, the screams about human rights, the appeals to his conscience. There were none. Squall simply replied, just as he had before, "Yes, sir."

Melbourne grinned. _Excellent_. "In that case, you are dismissed. The next train to Dollet is at…" He opened a drawer, pulled out a paper, and said, "Noon tomorrow. Good luck."

As Squall left the room, Melbourne leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. Squall was one of his best soldiers. He just wished he had a better handle on what the boy was thinking.

He had put the moral dilemmas of what was acceptable behind him long ago. Doing so had made his job so much easier. Now, he could, with no difficulty at all, order the execution of a dozen civilians as casually as if he were swatting a fly. Indeed, he had done just that in a situation not long ago.

It was kill or be killed.

_After all,_ he thought, _this is war. _

* * *

Rinoa was leaning against the cold stone wall, relishing the feel of being out of that room, when the door opened and Squall emerged.

"Hey," Rinoa said happily as she saw him.

No response. At least he stopped and looked at her, though.

Rinoa skipped up to him and cheerfully pointed out, "Your commander is really intense. A look from that guy could kill a T-Rexaur."

Still no reply. Rinoa was starting to feel awkward.

"Well, come on, walk with me," she said, setting off down a corridor. After a moment, he followed.

"I have no idea where I'm going," Rinoa said as they walked, glancing at him and waiting.

Nothing.

"O-kay," she scowled, jumping forward and planting herself firmly in front of him. "What's the deal? You were talking to me before."

Squall just looked at her. She found herself gazing into his steely, blue-gray eyes. _They really are very blue… _She frowned slightly. Something wasn't right. Before, she had noticed how soft they had looked, but now….

It was like a dark cloud had passed over them.

She realized she was staring and blushed, looking at the ground. _Why did I do that?_ She looked up again, determined to get at least a word out of him.

He was gone.

**A/N: Alright! One week after I started, and I've already written two full-length chapters in that time. Sorry if this one was a bit slow; now that all but one major character is introduced, I promise the pace will start to pick up. Anyway, please review if you're reading this. I like reviews very, very much. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	4. Ch III: Best Served Cold

**Disclaimer:** Please don't arrest me! I never claimed to own Final Fantasy VIII, any of its characters, or "Do It Again" by Steely Dan.

**A/N:** Thanks to Renegade Seraph and…uh…"Somebody" for reviewing last chapter! Well…that's really all I have to say for now. Enjoy.

**Content Warnings: **Violence, swearing, and disturbing content.

* * *

**Best Served Cold**

"_In the morning you go gunnin' For the man who stole your water_

_And you fire till he is done in But they catch you at the border_

_And the mourners are all singin' As they drag you by your feet_

_But the hangman isn't hangin' And they put you on the street_

_Yeah, you go back, Jack, do it again…"_

--Steely Dan, "Do It Again"

He walked forward, but he couldn't feel his feet touch the ground. He stared ahead of himself, but he couldn't see where he was going. She was talking to him, but he didn't hear her. He couldn't hear, see, feel, anything.

Nothing except the commander's words, over and over and over…

_By any means you deem necessary_, the commander's voice spoke coldly.

_Stop it,_ Squall shouted back. _Shut the fuck up._

He couldn't stop them. The words rushed over him in a never-ending torrent, sending waves of nausea through his body.

_Destroy the communications tower. No matter how many civilians may be inside. Any means necessary. You will. Destroy. No matter how many civilians. You. Destroy. Civilians._

He was dimly aware that the Heartilly girl had stopped in front of him. He stopped as well, looking down at her, his mind still trapped in the commander's room.

As she looked into his eyes, he suddenly felt hunted, like a thousand fingers were pointing at him, each with it's own voice, screaming, "Guilty!"

_I have to go,_ he thought confusedly, panicking. _I gotta get out of here. Please…let me out!_

When Rinoa's gaze dropped to the floor, Squall turned and started to run. Maybe, if he ran fast enough, he could get away from those goddamn voices.

But in every door he passed, he could have sworn he saw a dead man or woman or child staring out at him with a blank but somehow accusing look on its face. With every step he took, each of the many medals that bedecked his uniform cried out an accusation, each in the voice of whatever person he had killed to get it.

His entire body convulsed in horror as he thought he saw the Galbadian soldier he had killed the day before with tears in his eyes as Squall casually ran him through with is gunblade. Only this time, he saw a woman standing behind the soldier, screaming as her husband's bloodied corpse fall in two pieces to the ground.

He looked down and saw a little girl--young enough to seem completely innocent but old enough to understand what he had done, what he was going to do--grab the leg of his slacks, running after him and shrieking, _What did you do to him? What did you do to my daddy?_

_What did you do? _

_What_ will _you do?_

_Destroy. Any means necessary._

_Yes, sir_.

Squall barreled into his own room, rushed into the bathroom and up to the wash basin, and emptied his stomach, leaving an awful taste in his mouth that kept him retching even after there was nothing left to purge.

If murder had a taste, this was it.

There, in the privacy of his quarters, the vestiges of Squall's shell melted away once again. He staggered to the wall and slid down it, breaking down. The look in the soldier's eyes as the life had left him had been bad enough, but this…this was so much worse.

Galbadian soldiers were one thing; he could rationalize away their deaths, given time. But civilians…

Coming to terms with killing civilians would require him to take a step he just wasn't prepared to take.

An uncertain knock came on the door. Squall scrambled to his feet in a mixture of surprise and, dare he say, fear. He couldn't allow anyone to see him like this. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his tear-stained face as best as he could, composed his features, and opened the door just as Rinoa raised her fist to knock again.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

She didn't seem to have heard him; she was too busy looking startled as she stared at his left hand.

_Shit_, Squall thought. He was still holding the towel. After striding back into his room and tossing the cloth reminder of his breakdown onto the bed, he turned to the raven-haired girl and waited for her to speak.

He didn't have to wait long. "Squall," she said softly, stepping over the threshold into his quarters and casting a sincerely concerned look at his eyes. "Squall, your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been crying?" He turned away, subconsciously running his fingers through his hair.

"What's wrong? You can tell me…" Her voice was now barely above a whisper.

"Go away, Heartilly," he snapped, his back still turned to her. He didn't want her sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone.

The girl blinked, taken aback. "Fine," she said coolly. She did an about-face and walked out of the room, head held high.

As soon as she was gone, Squall collapsed on the bed, still in uniform. The cacophony of voices that had quieted when she had walked in now rose again, assaulting him from all sides.

_It must be kept from them by any means necessary._

_What would you do, Squall? How far would you go?_

_How far have you _already _gone? _

* * *

_The five-year-old screamed as the red-hot poker seared his flesh. Taking pleasure in his pain, the madman holding the poker cackled insanely._

"_That'll teach you," Frank snickered. "That'll teach you to try to get away from me, you little shit." Squall sobbed in pain and humiliation and burning anger as the man that had betrayed his father lurched away, using the poker as a support, and climbed up the stairs into the governor's mansion's main hall, shutting the door behind him and cutting off all light from the dank, rat-infested passageway that he knew he and his kidnapped sister and his missing father and his dead mother should have taken three years ago. If only they hadn't trusted that man…If only they had seen him for what he was…_

_A rat darted over his foot, causing him to try to jerk away. It wouldn't do any good, though; he was chained firmly to the cold steel table. Even after months of being confined here, he still hadn't gotten used to the rats._

_What was maddening was that he could stare down the passageway and _know _that it led out of Winhill, to freedom. But he could never break free of his restraints. He was doomed to stay here forever--_

_--or was he? He gasped as he realized that Frank, in one of his frequent bouts of insanity, had forgotten to securely clamp the handcuff around one of his hands. He pulled on it in a faint, almost desperate hope, and the hand came free._

_That hint of a faint hope blossomed in his chest, and he felt blindly around for something, _anything_ that he could use to cut free of his other bonds. His hand closed around a sharp blade and he gasped in pain, eyes watering as he felt down its great length and found a handle. He knew immediately what it was._

_It was a gunblade. The same gunblade that Frank had used to cut a long gash in his back two years ago. The same gunblade that had terrified him out of his wits since then, certain that it would jump up and carve through his body one night while he slept._

_And it was fully loaded._

_Squall's fear of the weapon wasn't enough to stop him from hoisting it with great difficulty and bringing it down over the chain that secured his other hand. Closing his eyes, he pulled the trigger, and a noise loud enough to shatter crystal split the air. His ears still ringing, he grabbed the handle with the newly-freed other hand and swung the blade over the chain holding his left foot._

_That was when he heard a door slam somewhere above him._

_Blind panic took hold of him, and he made short work of the shackles on both of his feet. The vibrating blade nearly took a few of his toes off in the process, but he didn't care. He just wanted out._

_He scrambled upright as the door to the passageway flew open and he heard the governor's loud, angry yell emanate from the blinding light of the open doorway. Still holding the gunblade, he turned and pumped his legs as hard as he could, determined to escape._

_The passageway seemed like it stretched on endlessly, and all the while he ran Squall heard Frank's footsteps behind him, his loud curses sounding nearer and nearer with each second. Squall spared a glance over his shoulder and gasped in surprise. _

_Frank was only a few steps behind. Seeing Squall turn his head, Frank bared his teeth savagely and reached out with the knife he held in his right hand. As Squall yanked his head away, the knife caught him on the forehead and slid down his nose._

_As the blood poured down his face, Squall, without thinking or even really knowing what he was doing, stopped dead in his tracks and swung the gunblade with all his might, insignificant though it was, at Frank's leg, instinctively pulling the trigger as he did so. Frank's howl told him that he had met his mark._

_Squall started running again, not bothering to look behind him and see how much damage he had done. At first, he could hear Frank's screams of pain as well as he had when they were right next to each other. But, gradually, the sound faded, and the only noises were those of his footsteps and small droplets of condensation dripping from the ceiling of the tunnel that had given way to a cave. Then, without warning, he took another step forward and burst out into the clear night air._

_Squall finally stopped running as he felt the cool breeze tickle his face and soothe the burning sensation that the cut had given him. He took shelter behind a thicket a good ways away from the moth of the cave that still stared at him, its jaws wide open as though to swallow him again and take him back to that house._

_Exhausted, Squall stretched out on the soft, springy grass, still not feeling quite safe but too tired to run anymore. The cut on his head had stopped bleeding, but he and his clothes and his hair and his new gunblade were all coated with dried blood._

_He had no idea where he was. But, it didn't matter._

_He was free._

_Ten years later, the fifteen-year-old Squall Leonhart, newly recruited by the WLA, stood gazing at the maw of that same cave, trying to work up the nerve to do what he had wanted to do every day since his dramatic escape._

_He sighed, his scarred face settling into a look of steely determination. It had to end today._

_It was now or never._

_His legs seemed to move on their own as he marched into the cave and down the long passageway at the end, dressed in his trademark black jeans, white shirt, and black coat, resting the flat edge of the gunblade he had stolen all those years ago on his shoulder and carrying a flashlight in his left hand. When he finally reached the steps leading up into the mansion, he paused, noticing that the table Frank had tortured him upon for months was gone. When he resumed his walk, he had slowed down considerably, not wishing to make any noise. He carefully climbed one stair at a time and reached for the knob on the door at the top. To his surprise, it was unlocked._

_He crept stealthily into the main hall of the Winhill governor's mansion, eyeing the expensive pieces of art that lined the walls with disgust. How could the governor carry on such an opulent lifestyle, even as his people suffered under Galbadian rule?_

_As he rounded a corner, his eyes fell on none other than the governor himself rounding an adjacent corner. They both came to a stop at the same time, a look of surprise and horror in the governor's face, an icy surge of hatred traveling down Squall's spine. He controlled it for now, taking time to size up the man that had been the object of his rage for all of his teenage years._

_What immediately struck him was how much Frank had changed. He was in a wheelchair and had a stump where one of his legs should have been, and the look of fear on his gaunt face made him seem centuries old_

I did that, _Squall thought without a trace of guilt. If anything, he was proud of himself._

_This man deserved everything that life had handed him._

"_Governor," Squall greeted the man coldly as he finally allowed a smirk of triumph to break out on his face. "You remember me, don't you?"_

_The man's face turned a whiter shade of pale as his eyes took in the prominent scar that ran down the middle of Squall's nose. "Leonhart…" he whispered, his terror evident in the tone of his voice._

_Squall nodded, baring his teeth savagely. "We have a bit of unfinished business," he said, casually swinging the gunblade down from his shoulder where it rested. He had an insane urge to laugh as the governor frantically turned his wheels backward in an attempt to escape. In his panic, the governor failed to keep an eye on the path of his movement, and he slammed into a statue of a one-winged angel._

This has lasted long enough_, Squall thought. He crossed the room in a single bound, gunblade held loosely at his side, and went to work._

_His first kill. _

_He enjoyed every second of it. _

* * *

For the second day in a row, Squall found himself drenched with sweat when he woke. He swore, realizing that he was still in his uniform, and glanced at the clock. 0815 hours. He had overslept, but not as badly as he had the day before.

He sighed as he stripped off his uniform and stepped into the shower, for once grateful that the water was always so cold. In less than four hours, he would be on the train for Dollet…

No. He couldn't start thinking about this again.

The shower seemed to take his mind off everything, and he was infinitely disappointed when, exactly fifteen minutes later, it cut off as he finished off his daily non-drinking water ration. He moved out of the shower, quickly dried off, and got dressed in his typical casual wear. WLA members never wore their uniforms on missions, of course; to do so would be like painting massive bull's-eyes on their backs.

He pushed open the door and found the halls of the WLA base already awash with activity. He groaned inwardly, carefully keeping his face completely emotionless, and leaned up against a wall, letting a group of rebels pass by without giving him a second glance. Usually, he would have had about an hour to wander the tunnels on his own, undisturbed, alone with his thoughts.

Then again, that was probably exactly what he needed to avoid today. Honestly, the best thing to do would be to go ahead, gather his squad together, and brief them on the mission. Brief them on the mission…

_Shit_, he thought, eyes widening imperceptibly. They had to leave in three and a half hours, and his squad didn't even know what their mission was yet! He should have briefed them all the night before. And yet…he hadn't.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he asked himself, detaching himself from the wall and setting off to find his squad and the Heartilly girl.

* * *

Rinoa stepped out of the shower and yawned, wrapping herself in a towel she plucked from a nearby rack and proceeding to dry her hair and apply her makeup.

She knew the WLA had given her one of their best rooms, but even with the private bathroom and shower--_thank Hyne for that_--it was still about as cold and unwelcoming as…well, Seifer. She smirked at the thought as she tossed the towel aside and pulled on her undergarments and pants.

Her thoughts turned to Squall as she slid a black top over her head and fastened her blue coat over it. Why had he blown up at her like he had the night before? Had she said or done something wrong?

She frowned. _No. It was his problem, not mine. The real question is: why can't I just let it go?_

A knock on her door jolted her out of her reverie. She quickly looked herself over in the mirror, decided she was presentable, and opened the door. She scowled.

"Squall."

The lieutenant looked at her calmly, arms folded. Her scowl deepened. "I'm still mad at you, you know."

Squall shrugged. "Whatever. Come with me." He turned and walked away, leaving Rinoa standing in the doorway with her mouth hanging open.

_What is his problem? _she thought before breaking into a half-run to catch up with him as he neared a corner. For every one of his long strides, she had to take about one and a half.

"Squall," she said as she drew level with him, somewhat winded. "Mind telling me what this is about?"

No answer. She was tempted to do what she had done the day before and block his path, but something about his hurried steps told her that it would be a bad idea. She decided to be patient with him.

After passing several clumps of people making their slow, sleepy way down the halls, Squall finally spoke up. "We're leaving in five hours."

Once again, Rinoa was taken aback. "Leaving? For Dollet?"

Squall nodded, never looking at her. A confused rush of emotions filled Rinoa: anticipation, excitement, apprehension, anxiety, fear. It must have shown, because a cold, mirthless grin appeared on the lieutenant's face. Rinoa stopped, folded her arms, and asked, "What?"

The grin disappeared as Squall shrugged and responded with his favorite word, "Whatever." He kept walking and Rinoa, thoroughly annoyed, rushed to catch up with him again.

"It wouldn't kill you to actually talk once in awhile," Rinoa pointed out as she drew level with him. Again.

Squall opened his mouth and Rinoa braced herself for the three-syllable word that was sure to come. It didn't. Instead, he called out two names. "Tilmitt! Kinneas!"

* * *

Squall saw Rinoa's face break into a radiant smile as Selphie and Irvine approached them. As always, Irvine had his arm on Selphie's shoulder and she was trying half-heartedly to push him off. She didn't seem too anxious to succeed, though.

"Rinny!" Selphie cried happily, rushing forward and enveloping Rinoa in a hug. Squall was amused as he watched Rinoa's eyes widen in surprise while she feebly patted Selphie on the back, but he didn't show it.

He didn't pay much attention to the exchange between Rinoa, Selphie, and Irvine. Not that he would have ordinarily, of course; but this time, his attention had been captured instead by the brown streaks in Rinoa's black hair. He hadn't noticed them before, but the way they waved behind her as she laughed at something Selphie had said was very…interesting…

Squall realized what he was doing and rolled his eyes, irritated with himself. _Something is seriously wrong with me lately_. Before his mind began to wander again, he spoke up, addressing Irvine.

"Do you know where Dincht and Trepe are?" he asked.

Irvine disengaged himself regretfully from the girls' conversation and shook his head. "Sorry," he relied. "We just came from the mess hall, and neither of them was there. Have you checked their quarters yet?"

Squall nodded silently and turned away, thinking. If Zell and Quistis weren't in their rooms and they weren't in the mess hall… Of course. Squall rolled his eyes and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"Come with me." He would fill them all in on the way.

* * *

"And so," Zell said, gesturing grandly with one hand in an action made more than a little ridiculous by the half-eaten hot dog held in that very hand, "that's how I saved everyone from the Anacondaur."

He paused, waiting for Quistis' reaction, and sighed when she simply nodded politely and kept sipping her coffee.

They were in a small, quaint diner in the occupied city of Winhill that Zell frequented for its "sweet" hot dogs. Despite the constant presence of Galbadian soldiers, WLA members were able to move unnoticed through the city as long as they kept a low profile and didn't do anything stupid, like wearing their uniforms.

After all, no Galbadian who saw a WLA member in action lived to tell the tale.

Zell wrenched his mind from this depressing subject to the almost-as-depressing subject of the woman sitting across from him, now staring at her reflection in her coffee. He winced.

"Okay, you're not having a good time."

Quistis looked up, a faint expression of surprise on her face, and quickly said, "No, Zell, I am. I really am." She wasn't being sarcastic, but Zell still didn't believe her.

"Yeah, right," he snorted. "C'mon, Quistis. Tell me what's wrong."

She hesitated. "It's just…we shouldn't be here!" Her suddenly raised voice drew the attention of the entire diner, but for once, she didn't seem to care. "We should be waiting at the…base until we receive our instructions. It's our duty." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said "base."

Zell rolled his eyes. "Look, Quistis. I know our duty is important to you. I get it." He held up a hand as she tried to cut in, and she fell silent. "Yeah, I get it. But geez, you've gotta loosen up a little now and then! This may sound a little clichéd, but…stop and smell the roses!"

Quistis had turned an uncharacteristic shade of red. "The lieutenant…" she said quietly, staring over his shoulder.

"Fuck the lieutenant!" Zell shouted.

"Having fun?" a new voice asked in a sardonic tone that managed to be amused and severe at the same time. The blood drained from Zell's face as he turned around.

"Oh…hello, Lieutenant, sir." Zell could tell that Squall was annoyed. _I would be too, if I had to take a two-hour trip just to check up on a wayward corporal._

"Hey, Zell!" Selphie and Rinoa said together as they trudged in as well. Irvine followed close behind, tipping his hat to Zell and grinning. He grinned back at first, but stopped as he noticed the dark glare Squall was giving him.

"Corporal Dincht, Corporal Trepe," the lieutenant said softly, the slight amusement of a few seconds before gone from his voice, "We have a train to board in less than an hour."

"Wha--?" Zell gaped. Quistis blinked.

"Sir?" she asked, puzzled. "Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the train." And with that, Squall ushered the three who had accompanied him out the door, leaving Zell and Quistis to quickly pay for their meal and hurry after them.

**A/N: Fourth chapter (well, third real chapter) down. I have to say, I'm really enjoying writing this, and I hope you're enjoying reading it just as much. I should be able to get the next chapter done this weekend, and Squall and Co. will _finally _end up in Dollet. Anyway, please review. More reviews equals more pressure on me to keep writing equals faster chapter updates. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	5. Ch IV: Sand and Blood

**Disclaimer:** Fine, I'll admit it, I DO own Final Fantasy VIII, its characters, and "Us and Them" by Pink Floyd! That's right. By the way, I also happen to be looking to sell one of my oil wells in Montana, so if you're interested…

**A/N:** Alright, I know I said that I would get this done over the weekend, but some things came up and one thing led to another and, before I knew it…I didn't get this done. Oh well. Three days late isn't too bad, right? Oh yeah, thanks to REM7, bhoy1888, and higher than sky high for reviewing the last chapter. Reviews are always very good.

**Content Warnings: **Swearing and violence.

* * *

**Sand and Blood**

"_Forward, he cried from the rear And the front rank died_

_And the General sat as the lines on the map Moved from side to side_

_Black and Blue, And who knows which is which and who is who?_

_Up and Down, And in the end it's only round and round and round…"_

--Pink Floyd, "Us and Them"

Selphie squealed as she clambered into the train, glancing excitedly from side to side, closely followed by a captivated-looking Irvine. Squall rolled his eyes, resting against the wall. _I've been rolling my eyes so much lately,_ he thought ruefully, _it's a wonder they aren't stuck that way. _

At least he was much more composed now than he had been that morning.

He briefly surveyed his surroundings. The WLA had paid for them to have a private car on the train--a necessity for the sort of work they would be doing. They were standing in a sort of antechamber, with the cabins behind a large metal door protected by a high-tech security system. He sighed. _Time to brief the team._

"Attention," he said softly. His entire squad immediately cut their conversations short, stiffening and turning toward him. His gaze passed impassively over each of their faces, taking in their serious, nervous expressions. Not really realizing what he was doing, he allowed his eyes to linger for a moment on the only person in the car that was not a member of the WLA--again.

Rinoa looked paler than usual, and the cheerful glint that usually graced her eyes had disappeared. She was leaning against the wall, almost as though she were relying on it for support. Squall frowned, sensing that something was wrong.

Preoccupied with Rinoa, it took him several seconds to realize that everyone was staring at him. He quickly turned his gaze back toward one of his squad members--he didn't really care which one, at the moment--and mentally kicked himself. _Why do I care about her problems, anyway?_

Putting the incident behind him, he cleared his throat and began the briefing, ignoring the strange looks that were quickly fading from his compatriot's faces.

"Yesterday," he said clearly, in an authoritative voice that commanded everyone's attention, "the WLA received word that the dukedom of Dollet had was under a Galbadian siege. This information came from one Miss Rinoa Heartilly of Timber's Forest Owls."

Everyone's eyes flicked briefly toward Rinoa; Squall had to force his own not to. He didn't want to slip into another reverie.

"Normally," he continued, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry, "we would not intervene in the affairs of another country, even a country we share a common enemy with, if the situation did not directly affect Winhill. However, technological developments in Dollet have permitted the construction of a long-range radio communications tower."

He saw confusion rapidly turn into understanding on his squad members' faces. He nodded, as if to confirm their thoughts and fears. "If the Galbadians gain control of this tower, they will instantly become a more mobile, more coordinated, and above all, more deadly enemy. Therefore, Commander Melbourne has sent us to assist the Dollet resistance in any way we can."

"I don't understand," Zell said, his frown made all the more prominent by the large tattoo on his face. "What does the commander hope one squad will be able to accomplish against the Galbadian Army? Surely he doesn't think six more people will be able to turn the tide of the siege."

Squall shrugged, hoping to avoid the subject of their real assignment, at least as long as Rinoa was around. From what he'd heard of the Forest Owls, he doubted she would approve of the WLA's methods.

"We have our orders," he said simply. "We will assist in any way possible. Dismissed."

He could tell that Zell wasn't satisfied with his response, but he let the issue slide without protest as everyone relaxed and began talking among themselves. Almost unconsciously, Squall's attention shifted back to Rinoa, who was peering out the open window as the rolling green countryside flew by. He got the feeling that she hadn't heard a word of the briefing.

"Squall," Selphie said, tapping him on the shoulder. He almost jumped, but years of hiding his emotions allowed him to recover just in time to smoothly turn to her and raise an eyebrow.

"Um, I was wondering…" Her voice trailed off as she bit her lip, hesitant to ask Squall whatever she wanted to ask. "Could you, y'know…unlock the cabin for us…?"

_Of course, the cabin._

He cut her off by nodding his acquiescence and, seeing a grateful smile break out on her face, quickly strolled over to the locking device that held the door to the cabin shut. He pulled out their ticket and ran it through a slot on the device, hearing a beep and a hiss of air as the door slid open. The WLA fighters quickly filed through, each one nodding to Squall as they passed.

As the last one, Quistis, walked through the open doorway, Squall was suddenly and very uncomfortably aware that he was alone in the antechamber with Rinoa. He looked over at her silhouette, framed by the light of the midday sun as it poured through the window, and felt a strong, inexplicable urge to walk up to her and talk to her. It was so strong, in fact, that he actually took a few steps in her direction before stopping himself.

_What am I doing?_ he asked himself, exasperated, and turned to go. Before he had a chance to leave, though, he heard a soft voice call his name.

"Squall."

He turned back toward the source of the voice and saw Rinoa looking at him, a soft but searching expression on her face. His discomfort increased tenfold.

"What?"

"Come here." His legs obeyed, even though his mind was screaming in protest, railing against his legs' insubordination. Before he knew what was happening, he was beside her, watching as trees and cows flew by at impossible speeds.

He felt his skin prickling piercing, yet somehow also gentle, gaze bore into him. He shifted awkwardly, waiting for her to say something.

After a moment, she turned back toward the view that kept rushing past them and sighed. "I love the countryside," she said softly. Squall looked at her, bemused, as she continued to talk.

"My father used to take me out here when I was a little girl," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "He was always talking about the old days, before the Revolution, back when Galbadia was still a territory of the Kingdom of Dollet. He said those times were easier, when everything was black and white, when Dollet was the bad guy and Galbadia was the good guy. Things aren't so simple anymore…"

"You're from Galbadia?" Squall blurted out the question, then cursed himself for his momentary openness, the tiny crack in his wall. She glanced at him, seeming to be surprised that he had asked her something, then nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said, her tone uncharacteristically bitter. "Yes, even though I fight for Timber's freedom, I'm still just a spoiled little Galbadian princess, and I always will be…at least to some people."

"I don't agree with that," Squall said, before he could stop himself. As Rinoa shot him another surprised look, more words issued unbidden from his mouth. "When it comes down to it, whose blood you have, where you were born, and all that shit…well, that's just what it is. It's shit. It doesn't matter. All that matters is what you make of your life. To hell with the rest of it."

He stopped short, simultaneously amazed at and embarrassed by the passionate tirade that had just flooded out of him. He started to turn red and risked a glance at Rinoa. He saw her lips curl upwards in a smile and wanted to crawl away to some place dark and die.

"Why, Lieutenant Leonhart," the girl said, her smile growing wider as the twinkle returned to her eye, triggering a feeling of raw mortification in Squall, "I _do _believe that's the most you've ever said to me since we've met. Bravo."

Squall shrugged, his cheeks burning hotter as she grew more playful. "And how very deep it was, too," she teased, twisting around and letting her hair blow in the wind that rushed past the train car's window. "I can see it now…" Her voice took on a tone that was grand and wistful and the same time. "The great philosopher Squall Leonhart, out to discover the meaning of life! Think you're up to it?"

"Whatever," Squall muttered. Rinoa let out a laugh: a clear, musical sound that made Squall's stomach feel like it was being twisted into a knot.

"'Whatever!'" she exclaimed in a very, very bad imitation of Squall's voice. "Of course, that's it! The insight! The brilliance! For years to come, young intellectuals will marvel at the sheer magnificence of that single word. People will come from all around, seeking the inspiration that rises out of that one word. 'Whatever.' Beautiful," she sighed, clapping her hands to her heart and pretending to be overcome with emotion.

Squall abruptly stepped back from the window, his annoyance clear as day on his face. "We'll reach Dollet in about twelve hours," he said shortly. "We all need to get some rest." He turned and walked into the cabin as she stared slack-jawed after him.

As he left, though, it occurred to him that the guilty thoughts and accusing voices that tormented him all but disappeared when he was with her.

* * *

Squall's sudden departure surprised Rinoa, to say the least. She hadn't expected him to react so…_drastically_.

She sighed, the broad smile that had briefly graced her face in Squall's presence a thing of the past, and stared morosely out the window. She couldn't help but feel that what she was doing was wrong.

After all, all these people--Zell, Selphie, Quistis, Irvine--had welcomed her and befriended her immediately. And now, she was lying to them.

_Not that I have a choice, _she rationalized. _If I told them the truth about why the Owls sent me here, I wouldn't very well be able to do what I was sent to do, now would I?_

It didn't help.

She groaned and buried her face in her arms. _Why does everything have to be so complicated?_

Eventually, she realized she couldn't stand there clutching her head between her elbows forever. Instead, she turned her attention back to the scenery, noting that the sun was still high in the sky. She didn't see how anyone could "get some rest" after being awake less than eight hours.

Then again, she had no idea when the next chance to catch some sleep would be. For all she knew, they'd be on the go nonstop for the next couple of _days_.

Reluctantly, she tore herself away from the window and walked through the door the entire WLA squad had already passed through. As she passed the cart holding everyone's luggage, the cabin's interior came into view. She frowned.

_What the hell?_

She wasn't looking at the six soft-looking beds lined up in a row along the wall. Nor was she looking at the odd chandelier that provided the room with light.

She was looking at the bodies of her five companions, sprawled across the floor like oversized rag dolls. Panic started to fill her chest as she took a step forward.

As she crossed the threshold and entered the cabin, a loud ringing noise, almost like a high-pitched scream, echoed through her skull. Instinctively, she clapped her hands to her ears and shut her eyes, screaming when the noise didn't stop.

If anything, it grew louder.

She stumbled blindly into the cabin and tripped over one of the legs of the first bed. She lay prone on the hard floor with her unconscious allies, eyes screwed shut, writhing like a snake, praying that something, _anything_, would make that noise stop…

And then, quite suddenly, it did.

* * *

Rinoa blinked. Everything had changed. The train, and everyone in it, had disappeared, and she was no longer lying on the floor twitching like someone suffering from epilepsy.

Instead, she was standing--that, she was very sure of--amidst a crowd of people in some open outdoor area, brightly illuminated by sunlight. She peered at the crowd; everyone seemed to be holding signs. She guessed that she was at some sort of rally. Before she had a chance to figure out exactly what the rally was _for_, someone grabbed her shoulder.

She spun around and, much to her confusion, said, "Hey, James! How's it going?" to the athletic-looking teenage boy that had just grabbed her. She spoke in a decidedly male voice.

In an action that was even more perplexing, the boy--James--grinned and thumped her on the shoulder, saying, "Not bad. I love the smell of dissent in the morning, don't you, Rhys?"

"Hell yeah," she replied in the same male voice as before. Her breath caught. _Rhys…that's my father's name…_

"It won't be long now," James said with relish as the crowd surged around them, "Won't be long before the revolution begins."

She nodded and, seeming to have no control over her own actions, said, "And then we'll make those Dollet pigs squeal!"

Then she noticed the signs again. They came in many forms--"End the Dollet Occupation," "Down with Dollet," "For a Free Galbadia," and "Boot the Bastards Back to the Beach," to name just a few--but they all had the same message.

Dollet was not welcome in Galbadia.

Then, another realization hit her when she noticed a large, beautifully built mansion in the distance, past a long buffer of trees. The crowd was standing outside the gates to the Galbadian Presidential Palace in Deling City.

As she tried to piece together everything she was seeing, a third person joined her and James. She--_no_, she thought,_ not me, but Rhys_--turned as the newcomer extended his hand.

The man was dressed casually, his long, dark hair held back by a weird sort of blue bandana that looped around his forehead and the top part of the back of his head. His dark eyes twinkled with youthful energy; he looked like he was only a couple of years older than the two teenagers.

"Good morning," the newcomer smiled as the teenager Rinoa seemed to be…inhabiting shook his hand. She spared a look at James; he looked like he was about to jump up and down in excitement. "You two must be Rhys Caraway and James Melbourne, am I right?"

Rinoa gasped, even though Rhys seemed unaffected. _Caraway…good Hyne, the guy I'm…_in_…he really is my father! And Melbourne…the WLA commander?_

She quickly pulled herself out of her reverie just in time to hear James stammer, "Y-yes sir. But…h-how do you know us?"

The man laughed, letting Rinoa's, or rather her father's, hand drop. "Of course I know who you two are! You did a wonderful job, organizing this rally _and_ getting the pigs to think it would be down at the military base."

He held his hand up as Rinoa felt her father's mouth open to protest. "No, no, none of that. I suppose the question really is…do you two know who _I _am?"

"Hell yes we do!" Rinoa's father blurted out. "Everyone knows who you are. You're our hero. You're _Vinzer Deling_."

Rinoa felt a jolt and opened her eyes.

* * *

She took in her surroundings immediately, breathing a sigh of relief as she realized she was back on the train. Around her, the others were starting to come to as well. The one closest to her, Zell, was rubbing his forehead, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"What the hell _was _that?" he groaned, looking at Rinoa. She shook her head; she didn't really know. The train seemed to be stopped, though. She clambered to her feet, looking around.

Squall was already standing up, so she staggered toward him. "Squall," she said plaintively. "What…just happened?"

He shook his head and looked at his watch. "_Fuck!_" he swore loudly, making her jump. "We don't have time for this. Everyone get up and get your luggage. _Now_."

As the groggy revolutionaries stumbled toward the cart and slid their bags off it, he grabbed his own and, in one smooth motion, slid his gunblade out of it. Rinoa shivered as she saw the cold steel glimmer under the light.

Seeing the others all unloading weapons of one sort or another from their bags, she quickly pulled her bag off the cart and opened it, taking out her own weapon: a circular, spiked disc known as a "pinwheel" that was fired from the arm and, through some feat of engineering, always returned to its wielder.

She had only ever shot it at cardboard cutouts.

Just as she finished strapping the weapon to her arm, she heard footsteps outside the cabin. The WLA squad had apparently heard them too, since they all quickly pulled close to the wall. Rinoa followed suit right before the first Galbadian soldier stepped into the cabin.

* * *

Squall closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound. He could hear every step the Galbadians with perfect clarity. There were three, one much closer to the door than the other two…and getting closer.

He opened his eyes and held up three fingers, then pointed to Irvine and signaled him to take care of the first. Irvine's hands tightened on his shotgun, and he nodded.

When the first came through the door, Squall was already past him, angling for the second one in the antechamber. His gunblade sliced through the air, cleanly severing the man's head; he didn't even have to pull the trigger.

Squall fell to the ground as the last soldier, eyes wide with fright, fumbled with his gun. Seeing the first soldier fall to the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead, he rolled over twice and twisted upward, effortlessly bringing his gunblade up into the soldier's spine.

Words couldn't describe how glad he was that he hadn't seen either man's face as they died.

Pushing that thought away for later, he stood up and gestured to his squad. They quickly filed through the door, clutching their weapons; all except Rinoa, who was staring shakily at the three dead soldiers.

Squall signed, annoyed. They didn't have much time, but it seemed he had no choice but to deal with it.

He wisely wiped the blood off his weapon first, then walked up to her. She shivered as he drew closer, and he stopped to study her face. He couldn't read it; he supposed it came from concealing his own emotions for so long. He seemed to have trouble telling what other people were feeling.

His train of thought was broken when she suddenly croaked, "Who…what…how…? I don't…understand…"

_Alright, I'll start there, _he thought, somewhat relieved. "The Galbadians have a perimeter set up around Dollet. A siege wouldn't work very well if there was no way to stop supplies and fresh troops from reaching the enemy."

Her voice shook. "So those men…"

He nodded. "They were probably stationed here to check the cargo of any incoming trains and confiscate it for use by their army."

Her eyes narrowed and her voice suddenly grew much stronger and…_accusatory_? "How can you be so _calm! _You just killed _two people!_"

The shriek she let out briefly caught Squall of guard. He had never seen her like this before; she looked like she had just been stabbed in the heart.

He immediately regretted that thought.

Forcing himself to stay composed, he said, "We have to leave the train immediately. It's likely that they have an outpost here that will send more troops after us if they discover our presence." He understood what her problem was; it was the same thing that haunted him at night, the same thing that had caused him to awaken covered in sweat for the past two mornings…

But, for now, she'd have to get over it.

With that thought, he grabbed her arm and, before she had a chance to protest, pulled her out of the train.

* * *

The others were waiting for them when Squall less-than-gracefully emerged from the train, dragging a pale-looking Rinoa behind him. As they touched the ground, she shook him off.

"_I can walk_," she hissed, shooting him a venomous look. He just shrugged in response.

"Um…" Zell spoke up, looking confusedly at the two of them. "If you don't mind me asking, what now? Dollet's about a mile away."

Squall squinted toward the dark horizon--it was now well past nightfall--and saw the outline of the city standing up in stark relief from the plains that gradually gave way to beach and, finally, ocean.

Then a sound split the air that would have sent shivers down any soldier's spine.

"Mortar fire," Squall mumbled. "Not a good sign. Has anyone noticed any other Galbadian soldiers around the train?"

Quistis shook her head. "No, sir. But that doesn't mean they aren't out there."

Squall nodded. "Right. In that case, everyone stay low to the ground. We'll have to make it to Dollet on foot."

As they set off, Squall glanced briefly at Rinoa. The shocked look she had had before was gone, replaced by one that he could only identify as determination.

_Determination to do what?_

He dismissed the thought; he couldn't waste energy on reflecting right now. They had a mission to complete.

Still, as they drew closer to Dollet--close enough to hear the gunshots that rang out every second or so, to see the soldiers darting in between the buildings, to notice that the enclosing line of Galbadian troops that would have existed had there been a siege was mysteriously absent--he couldn't help but feel that they might too late.

Then they hunkered down behind the charred body of a car just outside the city, and he realized that their worst-case scenario was unfolding right in front of them.

The siege was over. The Galbadians were already in the city.

**A/N: Whew, that was a lot harder to write than the others for some reason… Still, the fourth "real" chapter is down! Sorry for the wait; I usually try to update fairly quickly, but I'm only human. I would promise a quick update, but seeing that I promised that last time, I might just end up jinxing myself… Anyway, if you're reading this right now, please review. Please. And don't be afraid to point out anything you don't like, either. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	6. Ch V: Innocence

**Disclaimer:** I was lying last time. I really don't own Final Fantasy VIII, its characters, or "Civil War" by Guns N' Roses.

**A/N:** I'd like to thank Carie Valentine for beta-reading this chapter and helping me improve it! Um…so that's pretty much it. On to the story.

**Content Warnings: **Do I even have to mention the swearing and violence anymore? You really should expect it if you've read this far…

* * *

**Innocence**

"_My hands are tied, For all I've seen has changed my mind,_

_But still the wars go on as the years go by With no love of God or human rights,_

_And all these dreams are swept aside By bloody hands of the hypnotized_

_Who carry the cross of homicide, And history bears the scars of our civil wars."_

--Guns N' Roses, "Civil War"

In peacetime, the countryside, with its smooth transition to beach and finally ocean, would have been beyond picturesque; the moon's light would have shone softly on the tiny flowers that bedecked the plains and reflected off the distant water, causing both it and the wet sand to sparkle with a dazzling light. Apart from the natural sounds of crickets chirping and wind blowing, the night would have been perfectly silent.

The war had changed everything.

The combination of the mortar blasts and the intermittent bursts of gunfire cut into the stillness, threatening death for any who dared linger too long in one place. The cold night air seemed unwelcoming and hostile, and the plains were littered with the refuse of war: empty canteens, discarded ammunition belts, and the occasional corpse, usually half-hidden in the tall grass. Even the moon no longer shone softly; if anything, it looked like a massive, blank face in the sky, always watching, always ready to betray one's presence to the enemy. The buildings of Dollet itself stuck up above the horizon like massive tombstones, disturbed by the perpetual sounds of fighting in the distance.

Squall's thoughts were interrupted and he was forced to slink deeper into the shadow cast by the burned-out carcass of a car as a group of Galbadian soldiers ran past, shouting something unintelligible and brandishing machine guns. He didn't relax until they turned down an alleyway between two buildings, at which point he turned to his companions.

"We're going to have to change our plan," he hissed, keeping his voice as quiet as possible even though the enemy would likely have difficulty hearing them even if they shouted. "We won't be able to contact the Dollet leadership."

"Why not?" Rinoa whispered back. Squall glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in disbelief and irritation.

"Look around you. The Galbadians aren't laying siege to Dollet anymore; they're staging an all-out _invasion_. You don't go around trying to find the commander of an army that has no clue who you are or where you come from on a _battlefield_. For all they know, we've been sent by Galbadia to kill the Duke. They'll shoot us on sight."

As Rinoa fell silent, Squall raised his hands to his temples, trying to think even as shells whizzed through the air above them, one exploding close enough for him to feel a rush of hot air pass his face as the destroyed car groaned under the force of the blast.

"The old plan obviously won't work for this situation," he began, sounding more condescending than he had intended. Even though he wasn't looking at Rinoa, he could imagine the furious look she would have given him as he said the word 'obviously.' "So, we'll have to improvise."

Jutting up into the night sky, he could see the communications tower. The commander's words resurfaced in his mind. "If at any point you realize the Galbadians cannot be stopped, you will immediately, no matter what objections Miss Heartilly may raise and no matter how many civilians may be inside, destroy the communications tower." He grimaced imperceptibly. It seemed they had no other option.

He would punish himself for this later, he knew.

All these thoughts had crossed his mind in a split-second, and he continued the impromptu mission briefing without pause.

"We need to secure the communications tower first and foremost," he said.

_Secure. Right._

"From what I know of this city, the most direct route to the tower passes through the center of town. The enemy is tied up with dealing with the city's military and is as yet unaware of our presence and motivations, so they probably will not have the city square very well defended. They might not even control it yet. However, they _will_have a large force sweeping the city streets. If we split into two groups, it will be much easier to evade them."

He paused to study the people around him, a frown creasing his face as he tried to decide how to divide them up. They all looked back at him expectantly.

"Dincht, I want you to take Trepe and Heartilly and angle straight for the square and hold off any enemy reinforcements on their way to the tower. Meanwhile, Kinneas, Tilmitt, and I will head down the beach and make _our _way to the tower."

Squall saw a flicker of…something pass over Rinoa's face as he told them what the two teams were to be. She had cast her gaze from him to the pavement in a look that seemed to convey…what? He pushed the thought away. He had more important matters to deal with right now.

"Any questions?"

The rebels, with astonishing precision, all raised their hands in front of themselves in the WLA salute. Squall returned it and said, simply and gruffly, "Move out!"

* * *

Rinoa's vague sense of disappointment that Squall hadn't included her in his team was shuffled out of her mind as soon as the order came from Squall's mouth and she saw that Zell and Quistis were on their feet, dashing toward the nearest building. She scrambled up and tore after them, pressing her back against the relatively-intact brick wall seconds after they did.

As they panted under the cover of the building's shadow, Rinoa reflected on what she had seen. The WLA was much, much different from the Forest Owls. Everything about them, their cold, military precision, their salutes and protocols, and, she shivered at this thought, the _ease _with which they cut down their enemies was completely alien to her.

The WLA didn't remind her of the Owls so much as it reminded her of one of the more ruthless elite divisions of the Galbadian Army.

Before she had time to follow this disturbing thread of thinking, she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see Zell inch his way to the corner of the building and peer around it. After a moment, he turned back and mouthed, "All clear."

The three quickly twisted around the corner and into the deserted alleyway between two tall, brick buildings. Their feet pounded against the ground as they ran down the alley, lifting up little bits of paper trash to flutter through the air like white feathers. As they came to the end of the alley, they heard voices coming from the wide street in front of them and melted wraith-like into the shadows.

_This, I'm familiar with_, Rinoa thought ironically as she instinctively started breathing solely through her nose, minimizing the noise she made. _Running, hiding, staying in the shadows--this, I can do. Sneaking, good. Fighting, bad._

Then, after the troupe of four Galbadian soldiers passed, Zell flung himself around the building and snapped the nearest one's neck with his bare hands, and Rinoa's world exploded in a barrage of noise and light.

* * *

Over and over again. The surf pounding on the beach, his feet pounding on the ground, his blood pounding in his head, all with the same staccato rhythm. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two--

"Lieutenant?"

He didn't jump, even though the voice cutting into his brief hypnosis made him want to. Instead, he just inclined his head toward the source of the voice.

"Yes?"

Selphie was running just behind him at the same breakneck pace. Her face was a light shade of red, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps.

"What…are we…going to…do?" she puffed. "Once…we reach…the tower?"

They had reached Dollet's wooden pier, which the heavy shelling had remarkably left unscathed. Glancing up at the elevated stone walkway that towered above them and connected the pier to the city streets, Squall dove under the peninsular dock, closely followed by Selphie and Irvine. They were safe for the moment, unless some Galbadian officer had the inexplicable urge to search beneath the pier. But, since no boats were docked at the moment--_as though anyone would want to stick around this city right now_--Squall doubted they would.

With that in mind, he knelt down to rest and eyed his two subordinates. "We'll do what we need to do," he said calmly, betraying no emotion.

Irvine frowned. "Not much of a plan," he pointed out.

Squall shrugged. "Whatever." His breath recovered, he stood and turned to go.

"There's more to it," Irvine stated.

Squall paused in the midst of walking away and, not looking at either of them, said simply, "Yes."

"And?" Irvine asked, not letting Squall avoid the subject.

Squall's voice was calm as he said, "You and Tilmitt will evacuate any civilians that may be in the tower." _Fuck Melbourne's orders, I can at least do that._ "And I will plant and detonate explosives on every floor. Then, we won't have to worry about the tower falling into enemy hands."

As a stunned silence fell--silent apart from the occasional bursts of gunfire and mortar blasts--Squall started to jog again, out from under the dock and around the edge of the city, toward their target.

* * *

Bullets flew past the alleyway as first one, then another Galbadian soldier opened fire. Rinoa shrank to the ground, hands on her ears and shivering uncontrollably while Quistis's whip snaked out past her, wrapping around a second soldier's neck. Rinoa averted her eyes as the man suffocated and felt tears threatening to come from her eyes.

_This is all wrong_. _This isn't the way. This _can't be_ the way._

As the thought passed through her head, one of the soldiers broke away from the fighting and dashed into the alleyway, panting, an animalistic look of anger and fear in his eyes. He stopped, saw her crouched against the wall, and aimed his rifle at her, finger tightening on the trigger.

Without a thought, as instinctively as a bird swooping down to snatch up a worm, she raised her arm and shot her pinwheel at the man.

From there, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

The soldier saw the deadly, spiked disc coming at his face and ducked, making the spray of bullets from the maw of his gun fly off wildly, shattering windows but leaving Rinoa unharmed. The disc flew past him and he straightened up, a smug grin on his face.

Then, his grinned turned to a blank look, a look of shock, as the pinwheel embedded itself in his skull on the way back.

Rinoa was paralyzed. She watched in numb horror as the weapon started to push its way through the obstacle between it and the little device on her hand, making a sound like a slab of meat being slapped against a table over and over. Red liquids and gray solids were flung in every direction, splattering against the walls and the street and her face. Gasping, she screwed up her eyes, she didn't want to see, she_ couldn't let _herself see, it was too horrible…

She heard a light _thump_ and, seconds later, felt the pinwheel slide smoothly into its holster, completely cleaned by the force of its spin. But she didn't feel like all the blood had just flown away. She felt like it had glided onto her along with the pinwheel, had oozed across her arm and up her body and over her face and into her mouth and nose and eyes…

The tears she had held back before began to flow freely from those eyes._ Killer. Me. That's me, I'm a killer. I wonder if that guy had a family? He probably did. He probably wasn't even a volunteer; almost everyone in the Galbadian army is drafted. Hyne, I probably just took away a young wife's husband, a little girl's father, an old mother's son…_

"Rinoa." She felt a pair of hands gripping her on each shoulder and, gingerly opening her eyes, found herself staring into a pair of blue eyes. She focused on them, blocking out the image that was still imprinted on her mind: the pinwheel spinning into the man's head, cutting deep swaths through the skin and bone and flinging--flinging--

"Are you okay? Of course you're not," Zell sighed, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers. "It's never easy. Is…he your first?"

She nodded and felt fresh tears welling up. Zell's look was full of understanding, but had none of her emotion.

"The first time…no one handles it well," he said as his voice took on a firmer tone, surreptitiously brushing away the red and gray that painted her face. "But he was going to kill you. You were defending yourself."

"But--"

"No buts!" he cut in sharply, gripping her shoulders harder. "We have a mission to accomplish. You _have _to believe that you were protecting yourself and us, too. It's the only way." His voice had grown much softer.

Blinking away the tears, Rinoa forced her body to stop shaking. "Zell…"

"Yeah?"

"Does it…" She searched for the right words. "Does it ever get any…easier?"

His voice was truly soft when he answered. "Never. Not after the second or the fifth or the hundredth. It only gets harder."

She found it in herself to smile bitterly. "Not for Squall. He had no problem killing those two guys on the train."

Quistis had been silent until then, but at this, she spoke up. "That's not true. It's no easier for him. He's just better at hiding it."

Rinoa nodded slowly. _Really? He could hide something like this…no, worse than this? How? _

"Rinoa, listen," Zell said, carefully taking her by both hands and lifting her to her feet. She didn't object, but kept her eyes fixed firmly on his face. She couldn't let herself look anywhere else. "We have to go now. The square is just down this street, and we have to get away from here in case another squad comes by. Do you think you can make it?"

_No_, she thought. "Yes."

While Zell quickly ushered her past the bodies of the fallen soldiers, she saw Quistis give her a look that couldn't be anything but pity.

* * *

_There's no turning back now, _Squall thought as he lay prone atop a rocky cliff that jutted out from the beach, overlooking the base of the communications tower. He peered over the edge to see a lone Galbadian enter the building. A rapid burst of gunfire rang out. Seconds later, a man in a Dollet military uniform appeared from the doorway, dragging the Galbadian's body behind him. He hid it in some underbrush near the tower and then disappeared back inside.

Squall signaled to Irvine and Selphie, who were crouching behind him, and stood. He eyed the ground, judging the distance needed to avoid slamming into the jagged rocks on the cliff's side, and jumped.

He landed on both feet and immediately felt his knees buckle under the force of the landing. After a few moments, he heard a pair of _thuds_ come from behind as Irvine and Selphie joined him. He glanced back at them to ensure that they were alright; both looked pale, but neither was injured.

Then he strode up to the tower's double doors and tried to open them, but found them sealed tightly shut. Not knowing what else to do, he rapped on them loudly with the butt of his gunblade.

A cold male voice challenged them almost immediately. "State your identity and business."

"I am Lieutenant Squall Leonhart of the Winhill Liberation Army," Squall answered, unperturbed. "My orders are to prevent Galbadia from gaining control of this communications tower."

There was a brief pause before the voice replied. "What assurances do we have that you aren't just Galbadians trying to con your way into the tower?"

Squall took a moment to consider. "None," he said finally. "But you won't be able to last forever in that tower. You need our help."

There was another, longer pause. Then, Squall heard the latch disengage and saw the door swing open.

* * *

As Squall had predicted, the city square was completely deserted when Rinoa, Zell, and Quistis arrived. Nevertheless, it was not untouched; the storefronts were riddled with bullet holes and the street with pockmarks from various explosions, and there was a terrible, sickly-sweet smell of blood, decay, and death in the air. The battle had moved on to some other field; judging from the sounds, most of the fighting was occurring in the city's commercial district, south of the square.

Rinoa stepped into the square's fountain, now bone-dry, and leaned against the miraculously unharmed statue that decorated the exact center of the plaza. Her breathing was starting to turn to normal, but she still couldn't get the man's image out of her head.

She probably never would.

She heard Zell and Quistis talking in low voices with a sort of detached interest, making no move to join the conversation. "What now?" Zell was asking. Even though he was nominally the leader, he seemed to defer to Quistis for guidance.

"We wait," Quistis answered simply. Then, she elaborated. "We should probably take up a defensive position so that if someone _does _come along, we won't just be standing out here like--" She stopped suddenly and inclined her head, as though she had heard something.

It wasn't long before Rinoa heard it too. It reminded her of the sound a dog makes when it's wounded. With a feeling of growing horror, she realized what it was.

It was the sound of a child crying.

Rinoa tore herself from the statue and, before she knew what she was doing, ignoring Zell and Quistis's cries of "Rinoa, stop!" and "It could be dangerous," dashed for the source of the sound, only stopping when, after peering through three shop windows and two doors, she found it.

"It" was a little girl--_She can't be more than four or five,_ Rinoa thought--curled up in the corner of a tiny diner, sobbing uncontrollably into her jacket, her long brown hair obscuring most of her face. Rinoa carefully opened the door and walked past the tables and chairs, kneeling down as she reached the girl.

"Hey there," she said softly. "What's your name?"

The girl sniffed and looked up, her brown eyes puffy and bloodshot. "Lucy."

"That's a pretty name, Lucy," Rinoa smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Rinoa."

The girl took it hesitantly and shook it, giving Rinoa an insincere, watery smile. Then, she burst into tears again.

Rinoa was at a loss for a moment. _What do I do?_ she asked herself silently, quickly deciding on the instinctive course of action as the sobs grew louder and more intense. Shifting so that she sat right beside Lucy, Rinoa reached out and put her arm around the little girl's shoulders.

Lucy shot Rinoa a grateful look and leaned her head against Rinoa's shoulder, her sobs slowly subsiding. After sitting in silence for about half a minute, Rinoa decided that it would be safe to ask the girl something.

"Why are you out here, Lucy?" she asked kindly. "Where are your parents?"

Lucy sniffed. "Daddy's at his job," she said. "He works at a tower. When the men with the guns came, he was at work, and Mommy said he was still there."

_A tower? Does she mean the communications tower?_ "What about your mother?"

"Mommy was with me when they came, and she…she…" Lucy burst into a fresh wave of tears as Rinoa tightened her grip, her heart breaking for the little girl. _So that's what's wrong,_ she thought sorrowfully.

When the tears subsided, Rinoa turned her head to look at the girl. "Hey, Lucy," she said as gently as she could, "I have an idea. How about going to find your father?"

The girl's eyes immediately brightened. "Really?" she squealed, throwing her arms around Rinoa's neck. "Oh, thank you, Rinny!"

Rinoa laughed, hugging the little girl back. _She's only known me for two minutes, and she's already given me a nickname._ "Come on."

As she helped Lucy up, she turned to the door and saw two people staring at her. "What?" she asked, passing them on her way out.

Zell shook his head in amazement, looking at Quistis. "Hyne…did you see that? The girl was a water faucet a few minutes ago."

Quistis nodded slowly. "She is certainly talented. But…I don't think we can let them leave."

"Right," Zell said. He stepped through the door. "Rinoa!" he called.

Rinoa stopped midway across the square on the way to the tower. "Yes, Zell?" she called back.

"We have our orders. We've got to stay here."

Rinoa did an about-face, a trace of anger coursing though her now. "Zell, I'm going with this girl to help her find her father," she said firmly. "You can stay here or come with us; either way, I'm going."

Zell shook his head as she started to walk away. "Shit…" he muttered. "What do you think, Quistis?"

Quistis stepped up to stand beside him and watched Rinoa head down the street. "I think we should go with her."

* * *

Squall took in the inside of the tower's first floor in a single look. Aside from the Dollet soldier that had let him in, there were three people--all civilians, by the looks of them--scattered around the cramped room. Two were women, a blonde and a brunette, each wearing some sort of workplace uniform and huddled together towards the back of the room. The third was a brown-haired man dressed in a suit, leaning against a large metal column affixed with a door in the center of the room.

The floor by the entrance was slippery with what could only be blood.

He turned back to the soldier as Irvine and Selphie filed in. "Are there any other civilians in the tower?"

"No, sir," the soldier replied. "I thought we'd be safer if we were all together here at the entrance.

Squall raised an eyebrow. _That was stupid,_ he thought. _A group of Galbadians could have mowed them all down at once. If they had been spread throughout the tower, they could have given the enemy more trouble. Whatever, it makes my job easier._ "Can I have a word with you?"

Without waiting for the soldier's response, Squall drew him aside and said quietly, "You can't stay here."

The man blinked. "Why not?"

"The Galbadians' main goal in invading Dollet was to secure this tower," Squall replied. _It would be best not to tell him the real reason I want them out of here; I don't want him causing any trouble for us._ "They may not have come here in force yet, but rest assured that they will. We can't fight the entire Galbadian invasion."

"Even with all four of us fighting?"

Squall's eyebrow seemed to be glued to his hairline. _What an idiot._ "A snowball doesn't stand any chance in hell," he intoned. "No matter how _big _it happens to be."

"Right," the soldier nodded, stepping away. He cleared his throat. "Listen up, everybody." The room fell silent. "We have to leave the tower." A chorus of objections sprang up and he had to raise his hand to quiet everyone down. "It isn't safe to stay here."

"Where are we supposed to go?" the man leaning against the central column yelled. "It may not be safe to stay _here, _but it sure isn't safe out _there_!"

The soldier turned uncertainly to Squall, who calmly said, "Somewhere out of the city. If you're quick, there's a train out to the west of here; you might be able to hitch a ride with it before it leaves."

"But I can't leave," he said in a panicked voice. "My daughter and my wife are still in the city!"

Squall rolled his eyes. "They're probably already dead," he said harshly. _Why doesn't this guy get it? He can't afford to wait on people. At a time like this, it's every man for himself. You have to look out for yourself, period._

"H-how can you say that?" the man spluttered, his face a chalky white. Squall shrugged.

"It's the truth. But, if it will get you to get out of here, I'll have someone take your family to you if we find them."

The man wavered indecisively and Squall rolled his eyes yet again. "Deciding to _get out _won't do much good if the enemy's already outside the door by the time you decide." The man looked pained.

"Okay, alright, I'll go."

* * *

Rinoa smiled at the little girl that stood next to her as she reached forward to open the communications tower's front door. "Ready to go see your father, Lucy?"

"Yeah!" Lucy squealed, dashing through the door as soon as it was opened, much to Rinoa's horror.

"Lucy, wait!" Rinoa's heart was hammering as she followed Lucy into the tower. _What if the Galbadians are already here? What if they're waiting for someone to try to come in? What if, what if, what if?_

Then, she breathed a sigh of relief. The circular room was completely empty.

She frowned. Why was it empty?

"Daddy?" Lucy called, the bright expression fading from her face. "Daddy? Where are you…?"

* * *

"Last one."

Irvine handed Squall the little packet that contained enough explosives to eviscerate an office building, and he promptly attached it to the side of the tall metal column that ran from the foot of the tower to the base of its massive broadcasting dish, clinging tightly to the ladder within that metal column with one hand.

"Tilmitt, pass me the wire."

From a few rungs below Irvine, Selphie wordlessly handed up the end of the length of metal cable that connected each packet of explosives to the small box in her hand--the detonator. Squall skillfully attached it to the last packet.

"Done," he said. "Time to head down."

* * *

Rinoa sighed. Their frantic search had covered four of the tower's twenty levels already with no results. Nothing stirred in the halls of the tower, not even--and despite everything, her lips twisted in an ironic, desperate smile--a mouse.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Zell and Quistis round a corner. When their eyes fell on her, they both shook their heads.

"No sign of anyone," Quistis said, looking haggard. "It's like they were evacuated."

"Maybe they were," Rinoa replied. "This is a war zone, after all."

Zell nodded. "So where's Lucy?"

Rinoa looked down sadly. "Still looking. She hasn't given up yet."

"Do you think it's time?" Zell inquired. "For us to give up, that is?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I thought I heard someone moving inside the column, but…" Her voice trailed off and she frowned. "Speaking of which, where's Squall? Shouldn't he have been here by now?"

"Yes," Quistis said certainly. "I don't know what's keeping him."

Rinoa's brow furrowed in concern. "I hope nothing happened…"

* * *

"Ready?"

Selphie nodded, crouching beside Squall and Irvine on the rocky ground outside the tower, using a large formation of boulders for cover. Then, with a flourish, she depressed the big, red button on the detonator and the tower's top floor blew apart.

**A/N: I hate cliffhangers with all my soul. Nevertheless, there seems to be no better way to end a chapter…oh well. Anyways, please review if you're reading this; I'd hate to think I was losing people's interest. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	7. Ch VI: Killer

**Disclaimer: **Blah blah blah...I don't own Square's stuff or "Killer" by Alice Cooper...please don't sue.

**A/N: **Okay, let me start off by apologizing for the lateness of this update. I promise it won't become a trend. Whew...now that that's done, I'd like to thank Carie Valentine for beta-ing this story and Renegade Seraph and jellybean-kitty for two glowing reviews of last chapter. Don't worry, jellybean, I have NO intention of letting this story die ;) Anyways...on to the chapter!

**Content Warnings: **Swearing and mild violence. You know, the usual stuff.

* * *

**Killer**

"_What did I do to deserve such a fate?_

_I didn't really want to get involved in this thing._

_Someone handed me this gun and I..._

_I gave it everything..."_

--Alice Cooper, "Killer"

"On your knees!" Captain Biggs ordered the small band of five Dollet soldiers that had evaded the Galbadian occupation forces for over an hour. Begrudgingly, the entire company complied, sending him glares that could have cut steel.

"Seize their weapons and restrain them," he ordered the nearest of the twenty invaders that fell under his command. They nodded and scurried to carry out the order. Biggs stared at the defeated defenders with a sort of smug satisfaction. After exchanging fire with and losing ten soldiers to this ragged group, he felt perfectly justified in taking pleasure as he watch them forced into prone positions on the sweltering cobblestone street of Dollet's commercial district…

And then he felt it. The tremor that ran through his body like a mild earthquake, not strong enough to move him but easily enough to make him gasp in surprise, was closely followed by a sound louder than any thunder he'd ever heard, louder even than the roar of a thousand lions bellowing in perfect synchrony. He winced and, cupping one ear with his hand—the other hand was busy holding his gun—he twisted his head in the direction he thought it had come from. He blanched.

Even from this far away, he could see that the top portion of the communications tower—the one building they had been ordered _not _to harm, under any conditions—had been literally blown to smithereens, leaving nothing but a charred, twisted network of girders where the satellite dish had once been. The Galbadians glanced nervously from one to another, tightening their grips on their weapons.

"The fuck…" he muttered, amazed. He snatched his short-wave radio from his vest and started shouting into it. "Whoever fired on the communications tower, STAND DOWN!"

There was a moment in which nothing but confused static erupted from the radio. Then, a garbled voice answered, "Sir, no one fired on the tower, sir."

"Then how—" His voice was cut off by a second explosion as the second level of the tower from the top shattered outward from the sheer force of the blast. Debris, from short steel support bars to the massive slabs of concrete that had made up the tower's outer walls, started to rain down around them, smashing through roofs and clanging against the street. Biggs shielded his head with his arms as he narrowly missed being impaled by a long piece of metal that twisted out of the sky above him, slamming into the ground by his feet.

He started to cough as soot from the explosions filled the air and glanced sideways at the Dollet soldiers who were peculiarly vulnerable to the falling debris thanks to their position. He saw one of them raise his head, a bitter smile on his face, and was instantly overcome by suspicion.

Even as a third explosion blew sent a new wave of deadly shrapnel tearing through the Dollet street, Biggs strode purposefully toward the soldier and reached down to hoist him up by the collar. The soldier's smirk became a look of fear as Biggs stared into his eyes, face contorted with rage.

"_You _did this, didn't you?" Biggs accused, giving the soldier a searching look. "You Dollet people, you set it up so we'd _never _get what we wanted."

"No, I'm afraid I can't claim credit for it," the soldier replied, his eyes narrowing as his defiant grin returned. "But I sure as hell wish I could."

Before Biggs had a chance to react, the pressure from a fourth explosion shattered the windows of all the nearby buildings, and any semblance of order among the Galbadian conscripts disappeared as panic eliminated rational thought, or, for that matter, anything save the pure, animal survival instinct.

* * *

The sky was falling.

The raw force of the first explosion had tossed Rinoa against the wall like a flimsy paper doll, yanking her neck and teeth and sending jolts of pain running down ever nerve of her body. She felt the tower shiver ominously and forced her eyes open, pushing herself up the wall into a roughly standing position.

"Rinoa!" She jerked her head toward the source of the voice and immediately regretted it as pain shot down her spine. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she tried to make out who had called her name in the dark, windowless hallway even as the tower trembled as though it was made of jelly.

"Zell? Quistis?" she shouted. "Is that you?" Another explosion rocked the tower, and she grabbed a hold of a metal support beam to keep herself from falling down again.

"Yeah, it's us!" Zell shouted back. By now, Rinoa could vaguely make out the two forms that stood side-by-side a ways down the circular corridor, right next to the door leading inside the metal column that housed their only route of escape. "Come on, this place won't last much longer!"

"Where's Lucy?" Rinoa screamed even as a more powerful wave of pressure from a third explosion bore down on her.

"I don't know!"

"I have to find her, then." Rinoa struggled to make herself heard over the creaking and scraping noises of the tower's frame, which grew steadily worse with each new explosion. She turned and started to pull herself as quickly as possible along the corridor, using the metal beams for support.

* * *

"Rinoa, wait!" Zell called out frantically, but the girl had already scampered away. "Fuck," he cursed, starting to run after her. Then, he felt a hand grip his arm and looked back to see a remarkably unruffled Quistis fix him with a gaze that could have frozen fire.

"Let her go," Quistis said, not bothering to raise her voice to be heard.

"But…" Zell squinted vainly; Rinoa's figure had already disappeared around the curve.

"She's not a child," Quistis reminded him, remaining composed as Zell seized the door handle to stop them from being tossed aide by the next explosion. "She can take care of herself."

Zell hesitated, staring searchingly into Quistis's cool blue eyes. "Fine," he muttered finally, and swung the door open.

* * *

The light film of ash that filled the air quickly became a heavy curtain, pouring from everywhere and nowhere and burning any exposed bits of Rinoa's skin. She coughed, but still grimly pulled herself along, driven by the same fiery determination that had brought her to this place.

She stopped to catch her breath. The cascade of hot ash—she now realized it must be coming from the vents overhead—subsided momentarily during the lull between explosions, giving her the chance to croak out, "Lucy? Can you hear me?"

To her and immense relief, a reply emanated from what seemed to be right around the corner. "Rinny?" The young girl's voice quivered as she spoke.

Despite the direness of their situation, Rinoa's face broke into a radiant smile as she saw the girl round the bend, pale and shivering. Rinoa rushed forward, forgetting to hold on to the metal beams in her haste, and felt her feet fly out from under her under the power of yet another explosion.

Even through the pain she felt as she was slammed against the wall a second time and the distracting noise of the little girl's scream, she could tell from the popping noises and the column of steam that pushed its way through a tiny hole in the wall—signs of water pipes bursting under incredible pressure and temperature—that the explosions were drawing ever nearer.

As ash clogged the hallway once again, Rinoa heard Lucy scream out a second time. "Rinoa!" She forced herself to stand up.

"I'm okay," she gasped, and suddenly Lucy was in front of her and had thrown her arms around her, sobbing uncontrollably. Carefully taking hold of an overhead beam, Rinoa stroked the girl's hair.

"It's alright," she said soothingly. "Everything will be just fine…"

Lucy screamed as the next explosion ripped down the tower's length, tearing the support beam Rinoa held loose and sending it swinging through the hallway at a crazy angle. Rinoa let go just in time to avoid being carried with it, and then ducked as the it swung back, scything through the air to slam against the wall behind her and sending chips of concrete flying through the air. She felt a small shard gouge through her cheek and moved to shelter Lucy protectively with her entire body, waiting as explosion wore itself out. Then, taking a deep breath, she hoisted Lucy up with both hands, ignoring the girl's cries of surprise and confusion and bearing her considerable weight. Sprinting down the hallway, one thought filled her mind.

_The explosions are getting closer, and I still have to make it all the way to the bottom floor…_

* * *

Squall watched in a sort of morbid fascination as, floor by floor, one of man's greatest achievements crumbled, the victim of one of man's most terrible achievements.

He, Irvine, and Selphie were relatively safe from the explosions themselves in their shelter behind the boulders. But, he kept a watchful eye nevertheless; there was always the risk of falling debris injuring one of them.

His reverie was broken as he heard a sharp intake of breath come from Selphie from her crouched position beside him. "Oh Hyne, Squall…look!"

As Squall's gaze turned toward the tower's base, his entire body froze. Quistis and Zell had just emerged from within, covered with soot and looking exhausted.

Rinoa was nowhere in sight.

And then, all of a sudden, he was standing, his legs carrying him toward the two, heedless of any possible danger. His brain was working in overdrive, letting loose a rapid-fire salvo of questions and thoughts as his body moved on its own. _Why are they here? Where's Rinoa? Didn't they understand my orders? Where's Rinoa? Goddamn it, they could have been KILLED!_

_Where's Rinoa?_

"Squall!" Zell exclaimed as his commanding officer seized him by the collar, raising him to the air with a look of cold fury in his steely eyes. Zell struggled vainly. "What the hell are you—"

"I told you to guard the square," Squall hissed. Zell squirmed.

"Yeah, I know, but—"

"This _isn't_ the fucking square!" Squall roared, shaking his blonde subordinate violently.

"Squall, calm down," Quistis said, looking, incredibly, somewhat rattled. Without warning, Squall dropped Zell—who immediately buckled over, clutching his throat—and turned to her.

"Don't you get it, Trepe?" All trace of anger was gone from his voice now, giving it a hollow, dead sound. He stood perfectly still, showing no reaction even when another explosion claimed another section of the tower, blowing his hair back and covering them in a cloud of soot. Here at the tower's feet, they were near enough to the epicenter of the explosions to be reasonably certain that the biggest bits of debris would be blown far away...at least until the detonations made their way down to the lower levels. "WLA Protocol Sixty-Five. Anyone who is injured in combat is left behind. You needlessly put yourselves in danger. Even a slight injury, and…your blood would have been on my hands."

"Sir," Zell wheezed from the ground, staring up at him. "Sir, we didn't have much of a choice. Rinoa would have gone either way, and—"

Squall's blood froze in his veins.

"Heartilly?"

Zell nodded and struggled to his feet. "Yeah. She came across this girl who was looking for her dad, and things just sort of got out of control, and so—"

Squall's attempt to wet his lips failed; his mouth was already too dry. "And where is she now?"

"Still inside," Zell responded. "She—whoa!"

Squall pushed past him, no longer listening to anything he was saying. It didn't matter. _Nothing _mattered.

* * *

The inside of the column was boiling. Ladder, ash, even the air itself—everything seared Rinoa's skin as she protectively tried to shelter Lucy under her coat, her right hand on a rung and her left hand on Lucy's wrist, encircling the girl's thin silver bracelet. Above her, she saw periodic flares of light: the explosions.

Worse, she could now actually _feel_ each detonation, the rush of wind, the burst of unbearable heat, and the raw power that seemed strong enough to rip the world in two. She could smell the charcoal scent made as the flames incinerated paint and paper and paper and plastic, reminding her, for an absurd moment, of a cold winter morning over twelve years ago when the fire in her family's hearth had begun to smolder out and her mother had rekindled it by throwing in a stack of newspapers. She seized happily onto this memory, for no matter how painful thinking of her mother could be since her death, _nothing _was worse than having to focus on the the blistering heat. Rung by rung, she made her way down, doing everything she could to protect the little girl from something that no child should have to face.

As she descended, the air grew ever more clogged with ash that, in such a tiny space, had nowhere to go but down. Its weight fell on her neck and shoulders and _lungs_, and suddenly she couldn't move or blink or even breathe. _I'm going to die in this place_, she thought. _I've just killed a man and I'm being punished for it, I've just killed a man and God or Hyne or whatever controls the world _knows _what I've done and I'm a killer and killers get suffocated under a burning pillow of ash that blots out everything from light to sound to life itself… _Her limbs were too heavy to move. Almost unconscious, she felt each of her arms rid themselves of their burdens, her fingers slipping from the rung and sending her tumbling downward in a free-fall that, in her dreamlike state of pain-induced stupor, seemed to last an eternity.

_So this is it, _she thought numbly, gazing up through the infinitely thick darkness as the hot air rushed past her. _This is how I meet my end. Alone. Left in the dark. _

And then, in the last moments before her vision faded to black, she felt her body come to a sudden stop as a pair of strong arms plucked her from the air.

* * *

"Heartilly!" Squall yelled as he peered into the column, raising a gloved hand to shield his face from the torrent of ash that rushed like water down a pipe. He couldn't see anything beyond the black cloud. "Goddamn it, Heartilly, if you can hear me, answer me!"

He reached out, groping blindly for the ladder, and suddenly _she_ was there. He caught her effortlessly and pulled her out, lifting her in front of him and turning to sprint across the room and out of the building.

Squall pushed past a shocked-looking Zell and a calmer Quistis a second time on the way out. "Fucking run!" he barked, not bothering to look back as his legs carried him and the unconscious girl away from the tower. The boulders were just ahead and the bombs were just behind; he didn't stop until the former was securely between him and the ladder. He ducked behind them just after the nearest explosion yet sent a red-hot shard of metal across his left arm. He ignored the pain and threw himself down beside a wide-eyed Selphie. Moments later, Zell and Quistis joined them, panting lightly.

They all huddled together behind the massive rocks and waited as one, two, three explosions tore apart the remaining fragments of the tower. The last one sent a wave of flames past the rocks, licking Squall's boot before running out of fuel and shivering away into nothingness.

At least half a minute passed in near-total silence apart from the rebels' ragged breathing before Irvine stood and peered over the rocks' edge. "Lieutenant," he whispered. "Check it out."

Squall realized he was still clutching Rinoa's comatose body tightly and gently laid her on the ground, checking her pulse. He was relieved to find it still going strong. He took a moment to look her face over. It was covered in ash and looked slightly red, as though it had been sunburned, but otherwise she seemed uninjured. His eyes traveled down the length of her body and paused over her left hand, which was curled tightly over something. As gently as he could, he worked his fingers into her hand, opening it up to reveal the object she clutched in something near a death grip.

It was a tiny, silver bracelet.

"Lieutenant?" Irvine's voice called questioningly. Squall hurriedly dropped the girl's hand and stood, peering over the top of the shortest boulder just as Irvine had to see a scene of pure devastation.

The tower had been obliterated. Apart from a few twisted pieces of metal sticking up from the ground and some random debris that was surely scattered all over Dollet, there was nothing left of it but a blacked piece of earth where it had once stood.

That, and the sound of footsteps, still in the distance but approaching rapidly.

_The Galbadians, _Squall thought. "They're coming," he said shortly. "Time to go."

Zell, Quistis, and Selphie quickly stood, taking their places next to Squall and Irvine, ready to depart. Zell glanced at Rinoa's prostrate form. "What about her?"

Squall bent down and lifted the girl with ease. "I've got her," he said by way of a reply, and with that, the rebels took off past the ruins of the destroyed communications tower and across the rich Dollet countryside. By the time the Galbadian troops arrived at the site, they were long gone.

* * *

Rinoa awoke to the sound of crickets chirping and the feeling of a cold wind on her face; a wonderful feeling after having been stuck inside a column of hot ash. She breathed in deeply and immediately burst into a fit of coughing as her lungs purged themselves of that same ash.

As the last black cloud from her lips faded away, she started to take in her surroundings. She was disoriented at first, but the world gradually began to take shape around her. First, she noticed the springy grass beneath her back; she was lying on the ground somewhere outdoors. The dark sky, along with the moon that was slowly sinking toward the horizon, all but confirmed this belief. As she came to this realization, something else struck her; the sound of wood cracking under heat. A fire?

"You're awake," a voice said, shortly but not unkindly. She would have jumped in her surprise, but she didn't have the energy just yet. Instead, she turned her head and found herself staring into a pair of deep, blue-gray eyes that she would have known anywhere.

"Squall," she gasped, sitting up. He was facing her, his back to the fire she had heard before. As she came to her senses, she saw the tents pitched in a rough circle around the fire and realized she was sitting in the middle of a campsite.

"What…happened?" she asked, rubbing her head and trying to remember. All she could recall was suffocating, falling down that column, sure that death was only seconds away…

_No, _she thought firmly. _I don't want to remember._

After a moment, she realized he was answering and forced her mind to focus on the present.

"—the tower," he was saying. "You fell. I caught you and got you out. We fled the city on foot and escaped the Galbadians. That's all."

She blinked. The information was coming too fast. "So…" she said slowly, allowing it all to sink in. "So where are we now?"

"Sixteen miles southwest of Dollet," he responded easily. "Far enough away for the Galbadians to have no idea where to look for us."

"The others?"

"Asleep."

"So you saved me and Lucy, _and _stayed out to wait for me to wake up?" She felt something stir inside her. Was it gratitude? "Where is Lucy, by the way?"

Squall frowned. "Who is Lucy?"

A chill ran down Rinoa's spine. "You know, the little girl that was with me when you pulled me out of that building. Where is she?"

In the long pause that followed, Rinoa felt the dread slowly build up in her heart. Finally, he responded, confirming all her fears.

"There was no little girl."

* * *

Squall watched as a series of emotions crossed the young woman's face in rapid succession. Some, he knew; others, he wasn't particularly sure about.

Fear. Something he didn't recognize. Confusion. Anger. Betrayal. Something else he didn't recognize.

But, above all else, grief. That emotion, he knew all too well.

_What am I supposed to do? _he wondered as tears rose in her eyes._ If I were her, I'd want to be left alone. Of course, that's it. _He stood to leave.

"Wait, Squall," Rinoa gasped, seizing his hand. He stopped. _What is she doing?_

"Squall…" she sniffed. "How…how did it happen?"

Squall sighed. "I don't know. After we detonated the charges, we saw Quistis and Zell come out of the tower, and—Heartilly?"

The cornucopia of emotions he had seen on her face before had vanished, replaced by a blank, stunned look, her mouth hanging slightly open. He frowned. "Heartilly? What is it?"

* * *

Rinoa's ears failed her as she heard his words. She couldn't believe it. She _wouldn't_ believe it. How could they have done something so terrible? A true revolutionary was supposed to have ideals, to have the high moral ground. But the WLA was…it was…

It was as bad as the government.

She was sure of it now.

"After _you _detonated the charges?" she said slowly, making eye contact with Squall.

"Yes," he responded immediately.

"And did it ever occur to you," she began, standing up, "Did it ever occur to you that there might be _people_ in there? That blowing up that tower might hurt _innocent _people like Lucy or her father or _me_?"

"Heartilly—"

"Shut the fuck up, Squall!" she screamed. "Just shut the fuck up." The tears were coming fast and hard now, and she couldn't stop them. "They told me the WLA wasn't as _ethical _as we were. You know, that's why I was sent to you all in the first place. The Owls wanted to find out just what the people they were allying themselves with were like. Huh." She smiled bitterly. "I guess we found out, didn't we?"

She spotted her luggage on the ground next to one of the tents and strode over to pick it up. As she did so, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Rinoa," Squall said softly, using her given name for the first time. "Wait." Rinoa shook his hand off angrily.

"Send anyone after me," she said coolly, "and I'll kill them." The bitter smile returned to her tear-stained face. "I can do that now."

She pushed him away and ran off into the darkness of the Galbadian countryside.

* * *

Squall watched her go, making no move to stop her. _She has the right to leave us if she wants_, he thought. He understood why she wanted to go; his reaction might have been as drastic had he ever met this Lucy girl. Still, he knew that he wouldn't be able to talk Rinoa out of leaving even if he tried.

With a heavy sigh, he sat back down and resumed what he had been doing before the black-haired girl had awoken: painstakingly punching a message in Morse code into a strip of paper tape. It took him a long while to do this; he had never had much skill at the telegraph.

"Commander Melbourne STOP. Lieutenant Leonhart reporting STOP. Mission accomplished STOP." He paused. Should he tell him about Rinoa? He would have to, sooner or later. "Heartilly AWOL STOP. She says Forest Owls ordered her to investigate the WLA STOP. The bombing convinced her that they should not associate with us STOP. Requesting new orders STOP. Leonhart out STOP."

He stood, holding the paper tape, and reached down into one of his belts to remove a small device with a slot to feed the tape through: a portable telegraph machine. Then, he strode away from the bright circle cast by the fire, reaching the railroad they had camped near for exactly this purpose. He listened carefully to the air and heard nothing; no trains would be passing anytime soon. Bending over, he reached under the tracks and yanked out a bit of the copper telegraph wire that ran under every single government-sanctioned railroad line in Galbadia. He attached the telegraph machine to it using a pair of copper leads and sent the message.

* * *

The signal traveled hundreds of miles within the course of a few minutes; down the railroad to Timber, it took a left, following another railroad into the Galbadian homeland. From there, it went south, traversing the vast desert of southern Galbadia and eventually leaping over a bridge into Winhill. From there, it left the railroads, following a private telegraph line underground and emerging in the cold stone office of the WLA leader.

Melbourne dropped the book he was reading—_A Revolutionary Manifesto_ by Vinzer Deling—as the telegraph machine in his office suddenly purred to life, printing out a bit of paper tape. He stretched it out on his desk and perused it, quickly translating the dots and dashes in his head.

_Of course, _he thought._ This explains everything; why that fool in Timber would send one of his operatives to help me, why he agreed to an alliance between us so quickly, why the Owls all treated me with such suspicion even after we had come to an agreement. He never really trusted me._

_And now, I could lose the advantage that this alliance gives me._

_I can't let that happen._

Luckily, he had a contingency plan for a situation just like this one.

He pulled out a strip of paper tape and started to write.

**A/N: Well, my readers, I hope that satisfied you. Feedback is appreciated, as always, and I'm going to start trying to reply to each review I receive. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can; I've started work on it already, and it looks like it will be a very LONG one. It will feature something of a turning point for Squall and the story itself. Stay tuned! Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	8. Ch VII: Renegade

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Period.

**A/N: **Argh! Another late update! I'm very, very sorry. I really did get this done as soon as I could. Please...forgive me. That said, I'd like to thank Carie Valentine for betareading this chapter, and jellybean-kitty, Renegade Seraph, x Euphoria, Angel Sorano, and Jess for giving the last chapter THE MOST REVIEWS any of my chapters has ever had. Although...now that I think about it, that might just be because it was out there for so long without an update...oh well. (By the way, I also wrote a short, Irvine-centric one-shot called "The Easiest Thing". I'd like to know what you all think of it. That is, if you want to tell me.)

**Content Warnings: **Swearing and violent content. Of course.

* * *

**Renegade**

"_All my devotion betrayed, I am no longer afraid,_

_I was too blinded to see How much you've stolen from me._

_You want to know why I feel so horrified? I've let my innocence die._

_You want to know why I can't be pacified? You made me bury something,_

_I won't be sleeping tonight."_

--Disturbed, "Deify"

She ran.

From the rebels who killed children. From the woman that looked like her who had sliced off a man's head without even _pausing. _From all these "allies" that were more akin their common enemy and made her wish she could just lie down in a ditch somewhere and never wake up rather than live with the knowledge that she had allowed herself to become _one_ of them...From all that and more, she ran.

Her feet flew lightly over the springy turf, carrying her up and down hills and past trees until she felt her legs grow heavy with exhaustion and her side start to ache as deep cramp set in. Still, she carried on, the tiny branches swarming around her and slamming into her face like miniature clubs. But, no matter how raw her skin turned, no matter how much each new collision stung, she couldn't bring herself to care.

No pain was terrible enough to halt her flight. No matter what the world hurled at her, _they_ were much worse. Only when her burning legs started to fold like bits of paper beneath her did she slow and finally collapse, feeling the cool grass on her face as her body collided with the ground, crickets chirping all around her.

Miles from where her long sprint had begun, she finally started to weep: for the little girl and her father who would never see each other again; for the five young revolutionaries she had grown to like who had caused that tragedy; for the countless innocents murdered more brutally by the Galbadians. Most of all, though, she wept for the death of her own innocence.

Her tears turned the dirt before her to mud, and before she knew what was happening, it was sticking to her face and hair along with the clumps of ash that were already there. _Oh Hyne, I must look terrible,_ she thought crazily, sitting up and trying to wipe it off before filling the night with a sudden peal of hysterical laughter.

_There you go again, Rinny, acting like a child, worrying about your looks when your whole world's gone to hell. Would the man you killed care how you looked right now? I doubt it. What about that Lucy girl? She can't care, she's DEAD and it's your fault, it's all your fault and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it. Face it, Rinny, you're not a soldier, you never have been and you're deluding yourself to think you could be. There's too much death, too much hate, too much blood. Why don't you just run along back home to Daddy, huh? Oh, that's right, you SOLD HIM OUT, didn't you, took the side of his enemy, didn't you. Too bad, so sad. Aww, poor little Rinny. All your problems are just too much to handle, aren't they?_

She heard the horn first. Dumbly realizing that she was sitting on a set of railroad tracks, she watched as the train's bright front light barreled toward her, a million tons of steel behind it, ready to crush anything in its path. Still, she did not move.

_It could all end right now, _she thought in a daze as the light bore down on her. _All you have to do is nothing. Just stay still._

No. She wasn't ready to go yet.

Jerking herself from her reverie, she scrambled to her feet and dove aside, feeling the enormous bullet rush past. As she lay on the grass, panting, she heard a loud screeching noise and realized that the train was quickly slowing down. One, two, three seconds later and the noise faded away. She heard a door open and slam shut before a hurried set of footsteps tore across the ground, and suddenly a pale-looking bearded man stood above her, shouting something. What was it? Rinoa forced herself to concentrate.

"—could have gotten yourself killed!" he was yelling, looking for all the world as though he had just stared Death himself in the eye. "Are you alright?"

Rinoa looked up at him and nodded, taking a moment to gain control of her throat enough so as to ensure that her voice wouldn't be shaky or crack. "Fine," she gasped finally.

"Oh thank Hyne," the man said, breathing what was clearly a sigh of relief. "But what were you doing on the tracks in the first place? If you hadn't gotten out of the way, I'd have hit you!" As he spoke, he held out his hand to help her up.

Rinoa accepted gladly. "I was just...walking," she replied evasively, carefully studying the man's glove as she felt her cheeks turn hot.

"Walking?" the man said incredulously. "Out here in the middle of nowhere? Uh-huh. Right."

Rinoa didn't know what to say. She sure as hell couldn't tell him the truth. Fortunately, the man seemed more worried about getting the train running again than hearing her story. She thanked him for helping her, then watched him walk away. As he turned, though, she noticed a black emblem on the back of his jacket.

"Wait!" she called out. He stopped and swiveled back around toward her.

"What?" he frowned.

"The back of your jacket..." She hesitated, thinking she was right but not sure she was. "This is the train GR-143, right? Bound for Winhill?"

"Actually, we'll be stopping at Timber first, but yeah, that's right, I'm the engineer," he answered, looking at her curiously.

"Oh, wonderful!" she said, allowing her voice to take on a happy tone even though couldn't manage any emotion other than shock at the moment. "I came to Dollet on that train and I have a return ticket."

"Really?" The engineer was momentarily stunned. "Well, let me see it..." She handed it to him. "So you would be Miss Heartilly, right?"

"Right," the girl confirmed.

The man stared at her for a moment, and she bit her lip, briefly worried that he would just leave her there. She vaguely recalled something from her studies about a government policy dictating that no train would ever stop for a passenger after departure, no matter who the passenger was. But then, this was different, right? The train was already stopped; it wouldn't be stopping specifically _for her_.

Her heart leaped in her chest as the engineer finally opened his mouth. _Oh, Hyne, he's going to say no. He's going to leave you out here alone with no food or water or transportation. How could you have ever expected anything else? He's just doing his job, after all._

Then, the words poured out of his mouth, and Rinoa was suddenly able to breathe again.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get on board."

* * *

Squall's eyes flew open, awakened from their light slumber by the sound of a low humming. An engine? He seized his gunblade from where it lay on the hard ground next to him and raised himself to a crouch, reaching up to quietly unzip the tent's flap. His breath rose to the top of the Anacondaur-skin shelter in a frozen white cloud. _When did it get so cold?_ he wondered.

He stepped out of the tent and quickly surveyed the campsite. The fire had long since gone out, but the sky was growing pale, signaling the approach of daybreak. He heard the engine suddenly cut off and, from somewhere outside his range of vision, a door slammed shut.

_Shit,_ he thought, stepping quietly toward the nearest tent to awaken whoever was in it. As he reached down to unzip the flap, a panicked Zell exploded out of it, rearing his fist back.

"Goddamn it, Zell," Squall hissed as the blonde's fist stopped moving inches from his face. "Get out of there. We have...visitors."

"What?" Zell's face was pale as he crawled out of the tent and scrambled to his feet. "Who?"

"How would I know? Come on."

Squall led Zell around the tent, staying as close to the ground as possible and keeping a firm grip on his gunblade. He stopped just as he was about to round the other side and peered from around the edge.

A black military vehicle was parked in the grass, an unsettling reminder of man's ability to harm man amidst the otherwise natural environment. It bore no markings, Galbadian or otherwise. Next to it, a tall, blonde man stood, his back turned toward Squall, seeming to survey the countryside. Squall felt a rush of recognition. That long, light-colored trench coat, the gunblade he gripped casually in one hand, the arrogant swagger that his shoulders conveyed even when he stood still...it could only be one person.

"Lieutenant Almasy," Squall said loudly, standing up and coming out from behind the tent.

* * *

Seifer heard his name and smirked savagely.

_Puberty Boy's here, eh? Good._

He turned around, his nonchalant air reflected by his complete lack of anything remotely resembling hurry.

"Lieutenant Leonhart," he called back, seeing Squall's eye twitch as his hand involuntarily gripped his gunblade tighter. Seifer's smirk widened.

"What brings you to Dollet, Almasy?" Squall asked, his face as calm as a tiger's. Before it pounces, that is.

"All business, eh? Can't old friends spend a little time to catch up first? Where's chicken wu—I mean, _Corporal Dincht?_" He bared his teeth as he heard a cry of protest from behind the tent. A second later, Zell popped up from nowhere, his face red with embarrassment and anger.

"Why you—" Zell began, cracking his knuckles before Squall shot him a dangerously cold look.

"Control yourself, Corporal," he said softly.

Zell turned away, still angry, and said shortly, "I'll get the others." As he moved to do so, he muttered just loud enough for Seifer to hear, "_Asshole._"

With Dincht gone, Seifer stepped forward, deliberately drawing himself up to tower over Squall, who was a full six inches shorter. It wouldn't be enough to intimidate the Lone Lion, of course. But then, he didn't really need to, did he?

"Well, Squall, since you're all business, I'll try to be, too," Seifer sighed dramatically, folding his arms. Squall looked at him, emotionless as ever. Seifer inwardly rolled his eyes.

_The guy is soooo uptight_, he thought.

"I was in the area on an assignment of my own, and the commander pulled me from it to come join you people on our _new _assignment," he explained.

No response.

_Fine, I'll just wait till he says something._

Several seconds passed and the two rebels just stood there as both men's eyes twitched with thinly veiled hostility. Squall finally broke the silence, his tone briefly reflecting his annoyance. "Which is?"

Seifer smirked again. _Two words, _he thought. _Must be a personal record of his._ He chuckled inwardly at his own joke.

"Well, you see," he finally said, as slowly and tortuously as possible, watching with growing amusement as Squall's eyes turned stormy, "we've been put on an assassination mission."

"And the target is...?"

_Ah, well, this'll get real boring real fast. Alright, Seifer, time to put on that brilliant poker face of yours. _The lie flew easily from his lips.

"President Vinzer Deling."

Squall's eyes widened, causing Seifer's to do the same.

_What's this? A reaction from Squall Leonhart? This must be the apocalypse!_

"Deling..." the young man breathed. "But he hasn't left the capital for fifteen years!"

Seifer shrugged. "Well, he's on a train right now. I won't be able to get on the train and into the car on my own, and you all are the only WLA men in the region. I need..." He grimaced. "Your help. But if you're not up to it..."

"Oh, we're up to it, Seifer," Squall said, giving him a twisted grin that was somewhat unsettling. "Rest assured about that." He started to walk away.

_Hyne, he's dim,_ Seifer thought. _That's right, Puberty Boy. Deling HASN'T left the capital for fifteen years._

As Seifer was about to go back into the car to await his new compatriots—Fujin and Raijin were back at the base, as his had been a solo mission—he saw Squall suddenly stop and froze.

_Shit, he knows something's wrong. He's not THAT dim._

But all the dark-haired rebel had to say was, "You never told me where the train was headed."

_Ha! He IS that dim after all! _Relieved, Seifer grinned, answering, "Timber."

* * *

_Vinzer Deling._

The name ran through Squall's mind incessantly as he rolled up his sleeping bag and took down his tent, stuffing both into his travel sack along with the case he kept his gunblade in. The name of the man that was responsible for everything. The name of the man whose orders had killed his mother. The name of the man who still had his older sister, who he had not seen for fifteen years and was probably rotting away in some jail cell, robbed of her adolescence and most of her childhood. The name of the man who had single-handedly put him where he was today.

The name of the man who, less than twenty-four hours ago, he had dreamed about being. Hero of the Revolution. Enemy of freedom. Fighter for freedom. Leader of a dictatorship. Leader of the Republic.

His thoughts were full of blood and revenge as he leaned forward and slid into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He would make Deling pay. Personally. And if Seifer thought he would be the one to climb onto that train and pull the trigger with his gunblade implanted in Deling's heart...well, he had another thing coming.

He noticed only vaguely when his squad joined him, slamming the other doors of the car shut. He wasn't even paying attention at all when Seifer turned the key in the ignition and the car took off at top speed across the grassy fields, crushing any animal or plant unfortunate enough to get in its way.

Nothing got his attention until a high-pitched squeal reverberated through his skull. "Fuck!" he shouted, to the evident surprise of everyone else in the car. Then, the pain grew so intense that he couldn't care less how anyone else was reacting. He lashed out, slamming his fists into the dashboard and smearing blood all over it. Instinctively, he covered his ears, even though he knew that it would be futile, even though he knew that the only thing he could do was wait it out...

* * *

He was disoriented at first. That didn't matter, though; this body kept moving and kept talking, even without his guidance. Gradually, he came to terms with his surroundings.

Another rally, much like the one from the previous dream. Or nightmare. Whatever. There _was_ something different, though. Actually, there were several things different. For one thing, he was standing on some sort of stage, holding...a microphone? Everyone was facing him, and whenever he talked, they would shout something back at him.

_Not just something,_ he thought. _They're...chanting. Repeating everything I say._

"We are Galbadia!"

_WE ARE GALBADIA!_

"We are invincible!"

_WE ARE INVINCIBLE!_

"We will be free!"

_WE WILL BE FREE!_

He listened, fascinated, as he—as Vinzer Deling—howled into the microphone, holding a fist into the air. The crowd went wild. Then, he realized what else set this rally apart from the previous one.

The crowd was armed.

Not everyone, of course. But, as he raised his fist, he saw several people raising machine guns—not aiming them at him, but simply brandishing them angrily in the air. While he watched, one man pulled the trigger on his weapon, letting loose a spray of bullets. No one seemed to notice.

And then it happened.

A cloud of gas erupted in the midst of the crowd, turning the rebellious chance into screams of terror. He started to cough as the gas wafted up to the stage and he inhaled it. He screwed his eyes shut immediately, feeling his knees buckle buckle beneath him as he collapsed into a prostrate position on the wooden stage. _Tear gas._

The screams of terror gave way to screams of pain as someone opened fire. He heard rapid footsteps, and felt his arms be forcibly slammed together behind him. _Click._ The handcuffs came down hard, nearly breaking his forearms. And then...

Vinzer woke with a start. Squall was disoriented once again. What had happened? As Vinzer's eyes took in the room, Squall used the opportunity to study it himself.

Bare, stone walls. Fluorescent lighting. A metal table. His arms, strapped to the sides of a metal chair.

_An interrogation room_, Squall realized.

The sound of footsteps. The door flying open. A man in Dollet military uniform stepping in, dragging a younger man behind him. The young man's right eye, swollen shut by bruising. Blood running down his face.

"Rhys?" Vinzer gasped, recognizing the young boy. _Rhys Caraway._ Had Squall had any control over Vinzer's body, he would have curled his lips. This was another man who shared responsibility for everything that had gone wrong in his life.

"Hey, Vinzer," Rhys smiled weakly, before being roughly shoved into room by the Dollet soldier.

"Sit down," the soldier snarled. The young man meekly complied, sitting in a second chair next to Vinzer, who kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Dollet soldier's face.

After the soldier had finished strapping Rhys into the chair much as Vinzer was, he stepped back, circling around to the other side of the table. He took a moment to study Vinzer. Squall was struck by how tired the man looked, despite the hard expression on his face.

"Vinzer Deling," he spat. Squall felt the disgusting liquid land on Vinzer's face. "You were responsible for the Galbadia City Square bombing, yes?"

Vinzer's face broke out into a grin.

"Answer me!" the soldier screamed, slamming his fists onto the table.

"Yeah," Vinzer said. "Yes, I most certainly was."

"Who sold you the bombs?"

Vinzer's grin faded away, replaced by a stony silence.

The soldier licked his lips. "Alright. We've had you before and no matter what we did, we couldn't break you. It won't be any different this time, will it?"

Vinzer had no problem answering this question. "Glad you finally figured that out."

The soldier nodded slowly. "Fine." He reached down to his belt and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol, crossed to the other side of the table yet again, and pushed it against Rhys's temple. The young man's eyes widened in shock.

"You wouldn't," Vinzer said, and despite his hatred for the man, Squall couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Oh yes I would," the Dollet soldier replied, showing his teeth. "You're the one who's always telling everyone how _terrible_ Dollet is, aren't you?"

"But he's only a kid!" Vinzer exploded, straining against the straps that held him in the chair. The soldier was unimpressed.

"Kids died in that building you bombed."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he shouted. Squall could smell the sweat in the air. His and Rhys's. "You don't know _anything._ You don't have a fucking idea why I did what I did."

"To kill the Dollet invaders?" the soldier suggested, his finger tightening on the trigger as he showed his teeth again.

_Teeth._

Without warning, Vinzer lunged forward in his chair, biting the soldier on the neck. Taken completely at unawares, the soldier's eyes bugged out and he shifted his gun, aimlessly squeezing the trigger. One bullet passed dangerously close to Vinzer's neck. Most of them buried themselves in the walls. And, as the man's hot blood spilled into Squall's—Vinzer's—mouth, a last bullet severed the strap that held his left hand to the chair.

He immediately released the man's neck, spitting the blood out of his mouth and feeling like he was about to be sick. He reached up with his free hand, wrapped his arm around the soldier's head, and in a quick, violent motion, snapped the neck he had just freed.

Like snapping a twig.

He reached down to the man's lifeless hands, sprawled on the floor by now, and pried the gun from his grasp. A quick, surgical shot, and his right arm was liberated. He turned to Rhys, whose mouth was hanging open in shock as he stared at the dead man on the ground.

"What...why did you..." he spluttered.

And, with a calm that would have horrified Squall had it not seemed so incredibly familiar to him, Vinzer grinned, the blood still warm on his face. "It was necessary."

* * *

_It was necessary._

Those three words were still ringing in Rinoa's head as she was suddenly, painfully jerked back to the present. And even though the train cabin was as innocuous as could be, even though it was hard to imagine _anything_ bad happening in that peaceful, quiet room with the gentle sound of quickly rolling wheels in the background, she couldn't help but think that someone was about to jump out of the dark and take a chunk out of her neck and wrap its arm around her head and grab her hair and then with a single pull, she would be...she would be...

She leaned over the side of the four-poster bed and vomited, not stopping until there was nothing left in her _to _purge. She hated that feeling: the feeling of her stomach convulsing and pushing foul-tasting liquid up her throat, a disgusting mockery of what she had last eaten. But she couldn't stop it.

She had sat in the chair and watched as Vinzer Deling had saved her father's life. She had watched as he had ripped into the soldier's jugular, sending blood everywhere. She had seen it, and it had horrified her.

_Why do people do this to each other? _she wondered, standing unsteadily to make her way into the bathroom, carefully avoiding the pool on the floor. _Why do they kill? Why, why, why?_

_What the hell could possibly be worth it?_

As she felt the cleansing water from the bathroom sink fill her mouth, washing away the terrible aftertaste, she realized that she had no answer.

* * *

_It was necessary._

Squall heard Vinzer Deling's words, repeated over and over in his head, as he slowly phased back into consciousness. Gradually, he regained his senses. Smell came first: the stink of gasoline fumes from a diesel engine. Next came hearing: the sound of a female voice calling his name. _Rinoa?_

No. He recognized the voice now. It was Quistis.

He opened his eyes and was instantly blinded. The sun was peeking over the horizon now, and it filtered through the windshield, assaulting his eyes. _Windshield?_ He realized that he was sitting down and suddenly knew exactly where he was: Seifer's car, on the way to kill the man whose body he had just inhabited. The man who had bit and snapped a man's neck without a second thought.

_Just what I would have done, _Squall thought grimly. _Live, kill, die. The life cycle of the revolutionary._ He wrenched his mind back to the present, forcing himself to stay focused.

"SQUALL!" Quistis was shouting. He realized that her hands were on the sides of his face. She seemed to see that he had opened his eyes and collapsed on top of him.

"Hey," Squall gasped, awkwardly trying to shift in his seat while she clung to him.

"You're alright," she sniffed. "Oh thank Hyne, you're alright. I—we thought—" Squall frowned. Was she...crying?

"Hey, man," Irvine interrupted, leaning forward to peer down at him from the back. His face was unusually pale. "What happened there?"

Squall looked around and saw that everyone was staring at him with more than a little concern on their faces: Quistis and Irvine, obviously, but also Selphie and Zell, who were just as riveted and just as pallid as the other, albeit more quiet about it. The only exception was Seifer, who had his hands upon the steering wheel and was determinedly gazing ahead, seeming to focus exclusively on his driving. Even as Squall looked, though, Seifer shot him a quick glance of something that almost bordered on worry. "You okay?" he called, quickly turning his gaze back to the fields of green ahead.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. "It was...like a dream, almost."

Quistis stiffened and looked up, her bloodshot eyes meeting his. "Like what happened on the train?"

Squall didn't have to ask what she meant. He just nodded.

She gave him a strange look. "And did it seem like it was...something from the past?"

"Yeah," Squall replied slowly. "I was—"

"Cut it," Seifer ordered sharply as the car came to an abrupt stop. "We're here."

* * *

Rinoa sighed, gazing morosely at the ruined piece of carpet. She had tried to save it, but to no avail.

_Hell, _she thought, _I've tried to save a lot of things to no avail._

Just as she was in danger of slipping into another reverie, a knock came at the door. She ran to it, grateful for _anything _that would stop her from having to think too much. Reaching out for the handle, she reflected on who it might be. She wasn't in a private car this time, so it was probably the resident of one of the other cabins.

She opened the door, revealing a brown-haired man wearing a suit, with worn, red-rimmed eyes that looked like they had been through hell. She immediately felt a rush of sympathy for this man.

"Sorry to bother you," he said softly, his voice wavering, "but...when you came into the cabin, I noticed you had a weapon." He nodded to the repugnant, deadly wheel that lay against the bed inside. "I was wondering...d-did you come from Dollet?"

Meeting the man's gaze, Rinoa forgot her own troubles. "Yes, I did," she said quietly, stepping aside. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you, but...I just want to ask you something. Are you...a..." He looked nervously from side to side and then, seeing no eavesdroppers, whispered, "A rebel?"

Rinoa's face flushed as panic rushed through her.

_Oh, Hyne, he's a Galbadian agent,_ she thought wildly. _He's a Galbadian agent and he's come for me, they'll torture me until I tell them who leads the Forest Owls and I won't be able to hold my tongue and my father won't be able to help me and I'll sing like a damn canary..._

No. This man was clearly suffering. He was no Galbadian agent. It would be impossible to put on an act like that.

Or at least, she thought so.

"I'd really like it if you came in," Rinoa said softly, carefully watching his reaction.

He sniffed, blinked, and stepped through the door, causing Rinoa to breathe a sigh of relief. She didn't know why, but he seemed infinitely less threatening now. She shut the door as he sat down in a small chair by the window.

"Why do you want to know if I'm a rebel?" she asked, jumping straight to the point. The man looked up, surprised by her frankness.

"I met some rebels in Dollet," he said, resting his face in his hands. "They got me out. Sent me away. Hustled me off to safety. But..."

"But what?" Rinoa asked gently.

"But my family was still there," he answered, bursting into a sudden fit of sobs. "They sent me away from the tower when my family was still in the city, and then I heard about the explosion. Don't you get it? I left them behind. Abandoned them. There was one, the one with the dark jacket and the gunblade, and he told me he would send someone after me if they found my little Lucy, but no one came, and then I saw _you _with that weapon and I hoped...I hoped..."

Rinoa knew she should put her arm around the man. Talk to him. _Something. _But all she could do was stare at him, slack-jawed, knowing perfectly well who this man was.

As she gazed, speechless, at Lucy's father, her mind fixed on what he had said. "The one with the dark jacket and the gunblade" could only mean Squall. And...

And he had evacuated the civilians in the tower, Lucy's father included.

Why hadn't he told her? Knowing this, knowing that he had never deliberately put civilian lives at risk...could she have stayed with him? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure she could forgive him even if they were to miraculously meet again.

"Squall," she breathed.

Who was she kidding? Of course she could forgive him. She always forgave. She wouldn't be _her _if she was incapable of forgiving the man for something that had always been beyond his control. If anyone was to blame, it was the WLA, not Squall.

As her mind processed what she had just learned, she noticed that the weeping man had heard her.

"Yes," he said excitedly, standing up. "Yes, that was his name! You _do_ know him! Can you tell me anything about my daughter and my wife?"

She sighed and averted her eyes, causing his face to fall. _How am I supposed to do this? How can anyone break the news to someone that his daughter, his wife, everyone dear to him...were all taken from him? Hyne, how do you say something like this? _

In the end, she decided the direct route was the best.

"Sir...maybe you should sit down."

* * *

Squall knelt beside Seifer on the tall, rocky ridge overlooking a long stretch of railway, a strong wind pushing his hair back as he eyed the parallel iron bars below. Behind them, he heard his squad's light footsteps as they joined the two lieutenants.

"Alright, Seifer," he said. "What's the plan?"

Seifer squinted into the distance. "If the train's on schedule, it should pass here in about five minutes. And Galbadian trains are known for never being or late. Or early, for that matter."

"So how do we get to the president?" Squall asked.

The blonde flashed him a brief grin. "We jump."

It took a moment for those two words to sink in. "We...jump?" Squall asked, not sure if he believed what he was hearing.

Seifer nodded. "Yep. We jump."

Squall raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding me. That's the big plan? The one you couldn't carry out on your own? _Jumping?_ Why the fuck do you need us?"

"Well, there's more to it than that," Seifer answered crossly. "You can't just open up a hatch on the ceiling and drop down into a train car. Someone will have to swing down to the car's side and put in a code to disable the security system."

"And then?" Squall asked skeptically.

"And then...I open up the hatch on the ceiling and drop down into a train car. But it has to be quick," he hastily added, seeing Squall's eyes go stormy once again. "Otherwise, the security will reactivate and alert the conductor to the breach. That's why I can't do it on my own."

Squall snorted. "The conductor. Right. If I were you, I'd be more worried about the president's personal guards."

"Oh yeah. Those too."

* * *

Never had Rinoa felt so powerless as when she watched this man break down before her. She wished she could say something, _anything_, but she felt rooted to the spot, unable to speak, move, or even _blink._

"I...I have to go," he said, his voice rising and falling crazily as he stood. "Sorry. Thanks. Bye."

_Wait, _her mind called, but her mouth said nothing. She stood there like a tree, rigid and immobile, as the man rushed past her, pushing the door open and tumbling out into the hallway. She heard his ragged sobs slowly draw further away, but never far enough away to disappear. Then, all of a sudden, they stopped.

She waited several minutes, standing in that one place. Then, a mixture of feelings—curiosity, altruism, and morbid fascination all lumped into one—drove her out of her room, down the thinly carpeted hallway, and through the open door that she knew led to his room.

She was completely unprepared for what she saw.

* * *

At first, the train was nothing but a low rumble in the distance. But within seconds, it grew more intense, sending a shiver through the very air as it tore across the countryside like an enormous steel bullet, drawing level with the cliff side mere moments after first coming into view on the horizon.

"Go!" Seifer yelled, scrambling to his feet and unhesitatingly leaping across the three-meter gap between the cliff and the train's top. Squall followed immediately, planting his foot on the edge and pushing off, leaving a cloud of dirt in his wake.

He watched calmly as the rushing expanse of steel passed by in front of him, knowing that to fall short would mean certain death and not caring. Slamming into the train's roof, he felt the breath leave his lungs and collapsed prostrate atop it, the rush of wind tickling the back of his head. He rolled over just in time to see first Quistis, then Zell, Selphie, and Irvine, land with varying degrees of unsteadiness atop nearby cars.

Seifer had already regained his footing and was on his way down the length of the train, crouching to stop himself from being thrown off by centrifugal force as the train suddenly whipped around a curve. "Hurry, it's this way!" the blonde shouted back, his gunblade already drawn and held out in front of him.

Squall gritted his teeth and stood shakily, placing a hand on the hilt of his own gunblade and following Seifer along the length of the train.

He planted one foot in front of the other, struggling to keep his balance as the wind buffeted him. One car, two, three, four, and suddenly Seifer was kneeling in front of him, eying a hatch beneath his feet.

"Train GR-143, car 5, cabin B," he muttered, tracing his hand along the writing engraved in the steel surface. "This is it." He glanced back at Squall. "What are you waiting for? Let's get this thing open."

* * *

Rinoa's blood turned cold as she stared into his blank, glazed-over eyes. Her gaze slowly ran down from his deathly white face and down to his neck. Seeing the red silk strip wrapped around both it and a little metal bar on the ceiling—his tie—she had to choke back a scream. She started to shiver uncontrollably and sank to her knees in the doorway.

Eventually, she decided she had better cut him down.

She took a hesitant step forward, eying him warily as though he was about to jerk back to life and attack her. But that was foolish, impossible. Even had the man seemed the type to do something of the sort—which he didn't—there was no way he could ever hurt her. Not now, anyway.

And as she severed the tie and the corpse fell to the ground, already cold and stiff, she couldn't help but think that she was somehow responsible for it.

* * *

Seifer tumbled down through the newly-opened hatch, raising his gunblade above his head and slicing the pressurized tube that was prepared to slam it shut in less than ten seconds. He grinned. _Well, that's one thing I won't have to worry about on the way out._

He landed on his feet and immediately raised his weapon in front of him, eyes surveying the room.

She was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck," he cursed, noticing the open doorway. He charged through, his trench coat trailing behind him, and resolved to search the hall room by room. He didn't have much of a choice. Failure was not an option.

* * *

Squall hauled himself back onto the train's top, the wind slamming against him as he swung over the edge with difficulty. His breath came in short bursts.

"You alright, Lieutenant?" Zell called from his position at the gap between their car and an adjacent one, presumably watching for guards.

"Yeah," Squall shouted back, the wind stealing the strength from his voice. "Seifer?"

"Down below," Zell replied. "Quistis, Selphie, and Irvine are all at other points on the train, waiting for guards."

"You think he needs backup?"

Zell raised an eyebrow. "He can probably handle it on his own...hey, wait!"

Squall ignored Zell's comment and pulled himself over to the open hatch. He took a breath, then dove through, gunblade held at the ready.

* * *

Rinoa heard a door slam in the hall and was seized by a sudden panic. _Shit, they've found me,_ she thought wildly. _They're searching and they don't know where I am yet, but they will soon, oh yes they will..._

Her paranoia didn't rob her of her instincts, though. As quietly as possible, she crept over to the door, leaving Lucy's father where he lay. She peered out into the hall just in time to see the back fringe of a white coat disappear into another cabin.

She crept down the hall, her heart pumping faster than she had ever thought it could, her mind racing at an equal pace. _There was a hatch in the ceiling above my cabin,_ she thought. _If I can get it open..._

As soon as she passed the door that the coat had vanished through, she broke into a sprint, reaching the entrance to her cabin in an instant and swinging through it, not bothering to wonder why it was open, even though she had closed it on her way out. She was already deep inside the room when she heard a shocked and very familiar voice call out from behind her.

"Rinoa?"

She spun around, saw him standing in the corner by the door, and gasped, instantly recognizing him.

* * *

What was she _doing_ here?

Seeing her jerk herself through an about-face, her eyes wide and face pale with unconcealed fright, Squall felt something stir inside him. What was it? Concern?

"Squall," she breathed, looking him over, the fright now replaced by surprise. "Why are you—"

"I should be asking _you_ that," he interrupted, sounding harsher than he intended. He stepped toward her, passing the door on the way, his gunblade held slack by his side.

"I don't understand," she frowned. _No more surprise, _Squall noted. _The emotion of the __moment is curiosity._

"Rinoa," he said, "I'm here for the _president_."

The raven-haired girl gazed at him, her brow furrowed. "_Deling_ is on this train? In _this_ car?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes," Squall confirmed.

"Well, that's not _actually_ true," a new voice drawled, making Rinoa jump and Squall whirl, raising his weapon defensively.

Identifying the newcomer, Squall breathed a sigh of relief.

"Almasy," he said in greeting, lowering the gunblade slightly before puzzling over what his fellow rebel had just said. "What do you mean, 'that's not actually true'?"

Seifer shot him a glare that could have set ice aflame. "Goddamn it, Leonhart, you really are dense sometimes."

A chill shot up Squall's spine. Something was amiss.

"Dense?" he said cautiously, imperceptibly readying his gunblade again. "What are you talking about?"

He felt his skin prickle slightly as Rinoa stepped up beside him, holding her pinwheel and eying Seifer with a look of calculating distrust that Squall had never seen on her pale face before. "Yes, Seifer," she said. "Please enlighten us."

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Let me spell it out for you. President Deling is _not _on this train. That was a lie. A smokescreen."

Squall's muscles tensed. "Then who _is _your target?"

Seifer's face broke out into a fierce, almost demented grin.

"Why, that beautiful woman standing next to you, of course."

Squall froze as Rinoa suddenly jerked in surprise. _What?_

Seifer sighed. "I suppose you want an explanation, huh?" He stepped back, moving out of the range of any potential strike from Squall. "Alright. Sweet little Rinoa there is one of the Forest Owls, a group that has recently forged an alliance with the WLA. She is intending to advise the Owls to cut all ties with us, on account of what she saw in Dollet. That's what _your_ report said, Leonhart."

"So what?" Squall gritted his teeth as his heart hammered in his chest.

_What the fuck is going on here? This can't be true. It can't. The WLA doesn't do shit like this. _

_Or do we? What about that little girl in the tower, Squall? What about her?_

"So," Seifer said clearly and deliberately, "we can't let that happen. The Owls' alliance is too valuable to us. They are much larger, much more influential than we've ever been. The only reason they haven't pushed the Galbadians out of Timber already is because they refuse to use the necessary...methods that we use. But, they are still very useful. They have operatives in every government agency, from the military to the railroad authority."

_No. It's a lie. It _has_ to be a fucking lie._

Siefer's lips turned up in a twisted smile. "How do you think we knew Rinoa had gotten on this train in the first place? The government keeps records of every person who boards a train. And the Owls have access to them. There's a bit of irony for you," he laughed.

Suddenly, his face turned stony and cold.

"Now, Leonhart, if you'll excuse me..." He stepped forward, pointing his blade at Rinoa. "I have some business to take care of."

A dry sound of a suppressed sob escaped the girl. As Seifer advanced, Squall's thoughts churned chaotically around in his head, all underneath a growing feeling of numbness and disbelief that made him want to throw his head back and laugh uncontrollably.

At last, he spoke up.

"Why didn't you tell me what the plan was from the beginning?" Squall asked quietly. Seifer stopped in his tracks and looked back at him.

"Why do you think?" he sneered. "You're unpredictable, Leonhart. Melbourne doesn't trust you. He was worried that you'd get cold feet or something. We knew I wouldn't be able to get into the train on my own, but we still couldn't afford the risk."

So that was it. They didn't trust him.

He supposed that he couldn't really blame them. In a way, they had been right. He _had_ been questioning their methods, after all. But, he would never have betrayed them. Not in a million years. Not like they had betrayed him.

Seifer was still talking. "You think this is easy for me, do you? Well? DO YOU? You have to look at the fucking _big picture_, Squall!" His blade swung around, now pointing at Squall. His eyes blazed with an odd light. It wasn't anger, it was..._guilt?_

"I don't know, Seifer," Squall said recklessly, bitterly, hoping desperately that he could drive Seifer over the edge and maybe even make him back off. He eyed the weapon, ready to bat it away with his own if it drew too close. "Is running your ex-girlfriend through the heart easy for you?"

"IT'S WHAT'S NECESSARY!" Seifer screamed, and something in Squall's mind clicked as the he realized just how horribly familiar those words were.

_Necessary._

"_It was necessary."_

_Vinzer Deling. James Melbourne. Two men from the same era. Two freedom fighters. Two leaders. Two traitors._

_Two murderers._

_How could I not have seen it before? _he wondered. _Those dreams...they've been trying to tell me something all along. They've been trying to show me that what we're doing...what the WLA is doing...is exactly what Deling did decades ago. We're repeating history. _

_Because, ultimately, the means and the ends are not separate...no, they're exactly the same thing. The noblest ends in the world are swept away by the tide of evil means, and eventually those means...become their own ends._

He looked from Rinoa to Seifer, and back again. Rinoa's face was pale with fear; Seifer's was red with anger. That same odd emotion stirred within him, and he knew that whatever happened, he had to protect her. It would rip his world out from under his feet, he knew. But more than fear of change, he was starting to feel a red, raw sense of anger. Anger at the WLA for lying to him. Anger at Seifer for his uncaring, no, sadistic attitude toward his former girlfriend. Anger at himself for blindly following his orders like a damn _sheep_. He had to stop them. He had to save _her_.

_There's too much blood on my hands already. I can't...I _won't _let hers join it._

He didn't have much of a choice.

And as those thoughts ran like water through his mind, he launched his attack.

Squall's blade moved, slashing out towards Seifer. Seifer's eyes widened in pure shock as he jerked his blade back to parry. The two weapons clanged together, screeching as Squall slid his down the Seifer's, and the blonde jerked back, disengaging as the tip of Squall's blade missed his throat by a millimeter. He came to a stop a short distance away, glaring at Squall as though he were seeing him for the first time.

"You know what this means, don't you, Squall?" he panted, his voice laced with raw venom. "You're betraying the WLA. You'll be a renegade. You'll never be welcome with us again."

Squall snorted. "Me, betray the WLA. That's a joke. The WLA betrayed_ me. _Not the other way around." And, as he spoke the words, he knew without a doubt that they were true.

Seifer looked at him for a moment, then lunged without warning, the length of cold steel arcing toward Squall's heart. Squall twisted aside and brought his blade down on Seifer's, pulling the trigger. His weapon suddenly accelerated, splitting the air with a sound like that of a chainsaw and knocking Seifer's blade downward like a strip of cheap tinfoil.

Squall's momentary thrill of satisfaction was cut short as Seifer swung his blade up and to the side, catching Squall off guard. Squall plunged his weapon straight down, stopping the deadly scything motion just before it would have sliced through his kneecaps. He drew a breath, momentarily stunned by how close that had been.

Then, he saw Seifer grin and pull the trigger.

Squall felt a jarring, deep pain travel up the bones of his arms, almost making him cry out. He bit his lip to suppress the pain and, before Seifer had a chance to press his advantage, planted the gunblade firmly against the floor to use as a pole to vault over him, landing on his other side with his back turned.

As Seifer stood and charged toward him for another attack, Squall spun around, his own gunblade dragging roughly against the ground and ripping through the thin carpet as he did so. Without hesitation, he swung it up and to the right.

Seifer skidded to a halt just in time to save himself from being beheaded, but not in time to stop the tip from catching him beside the nose and, with the horrendous sound of metal splitting meat, tearing deep into his face and up across his forehead. He swayed for a moment as the blood poured into his eyes, and then toppled over, unconscious.

_Close_, Squall thought blankly as Seifer collapsed before him. _Too close._

Squall sagged against the wall, releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Looking up, he spied Rinoa with her mouth hanging open, staring at Seifer's form lying on the ground with blood pouring from his head. She gulped and turned toward Squall, tears in her eyes. "Is he...?"

_Is he what? Dead?_

Assuming that was what she meant, Squall shook his head. She let out a sigh of relief, and Squall raised an eyebrow, exasperated. Then, to Squall's horror, she crossed the room and threw her arms around him, the sound of her sobs muffled by his jacket's fur collar.

Squall's mind froze, overloaded with a sudden stream of thoughts that came at him like machine gun fire.

_Holy shit, she's just thrown her arms around me. Now what? What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? Should I comfort her? How would I do that anyway? Hyne, I don't have TIME for this! I have to come up with what to do next! Who can I trust? I can't go back to the WLA, but there are WLA people all over this train, just waiting for something. As far as I know, Seifer didn't tell them what was going on any more than he did me. But can I risk that? Shit, this is a disaster, I have to get out of here, there's a girl crying on my shoulder, and I don't know what to do..._ Then, he breathed in, and the sweet scent of her hair drove every thought from his brain.

He awkwardly put the arm not holding his gunblade around her. Her breath smelled just as sweet, almost like fruit. Her tears were still flowing, hard and fast.

"I was scared," she choked out. "Really scared."

_What are you supposed to say to that? _he wondered. "It's over now." His lips seemed to move of their own accord as he slowly reached up and stroked her hair.

"I was really, really scared," she repeated it, holding him tighter, and for once, he wasn't annoyed in the slightest.

"You're used to this by now, aren't you?" he asked softly. She withdrew suddenly, meeting his blue eyes with her chocolate ones, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of loss.

"You don't get it," she sniffed. "I...I saw Lucy's father on the train."

_Oh, no._

"I told him what happened to his daughter, and he...he..." She buried her face in his collar again, and this time, Squall embraced her fully.

_Oh, Hyne, Rinoa, I'm so sorry,_ he thought sadly. _You're not ready for all of this. You shouldn't have to be. You should have been able to grow up a normal teenage girl like anyone else. What stopped you? Fate? Or did you choose this path? No, that's ridiculous. You never joined the WLA. You joined the Forest Owls. You never thought you'd have to kill a man or see a man commit suicide or watch as civilians died all around you. That's all our fault, not yours._

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, sending a thrill of trepidation through him. They were..._marching?_

_Goddamn it. Galbadians. How did they find us?_

"Better get going," he said gently, pulling away from Rinoa. "We can't stay here." The look in her eyes told him she understood.

He looked overhead, saw the open hatch, and knew what he had to do.

Half a minute later, he was helping her up through the hatch and into the roaring maelstrom atop the fast-moving train. Zell, Quistis, Selphie, and Irvine had vanished. Squall hoped they were safe, but he didn't have time to worry about it, anymore than he had time to worry about what the Galbadians would do with Seifer if they found him in that room.

All he had time to worry about was Rinoa.

They stood together atop the train now, staring down at the ground they would have to jump to if they were to escape. He felt her grip tighten on his arm as she met his gaze, her eyes fearful. "Squall...how are we going to—"

Squall stopped her and answered with five short words.

"Just stay close to me."

Then, without another word, they jumped.

_**End of Part One**_

**A/N: And with that, this story is one-fifth of the way done! I hope this LONG chapter (9,000 words to boot!) was worth the LONG wait, and I hope I haven't alienated any of you by making you wait so long :( It was really, truly unavoidable. Anyways, please review, and look for the next chapter to be up as soon as is physically possible. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	9. Ch VIII: Wings of a Butterfly

**Disclaimer: **Oh, forget it.

**A/N: **I'm pleased to bring you all a (relatively) fast update this time! I'd like to thank my betareader, Carie Valentine, as well as my reviewers, cerespallas, Angel Sorano, jellybean-kitty, x Euphoria, the-holy-dark, and Renegade Seraph, for once again giving me more reviews for last chapter than any chapter I've ever posted before. Alright, that said...here it is!

**Content Warnings:** Swearing and extremely mild violence.

* * *

_**Part Two: Angel**_

**Wings of a Butterfly**

"_I've got the power to fly into the wind, The power to be free to die and live again._

_This power's like a fire, fire loves to burn, Make the world a grave of ashes in an urn._

_The power in the darkness to see without my sight, Walk among the living free of wrong and right,_

_The power of the magic, the power of the spell, Not to serve in heaven, but one day rule in hell..."_

--Manowar, "The Power"

The space above the airstrip seemed to shimmer as three thousand tons of scarlet metal touched down, the heat from the ship's dual engines searing long black lines into the white concrete. The decorative dragon-head prow glimmered under the baking sun of Deling City Airport, as did the less-decorative particle cannon beneath it. Along the ship's hulking body, six black letters stood out clearly against the red background: ESTHAR. On the other side, the ship's name: RAGNAROK.

Two men, both in their fifties, watched as the enemy aircraft settled into its new position in the heart of Galbadia itself. One, dressed in the uniform of a Galbadian general, had a frown etched deeply into the lines of his face as he inclined his head toward the other and murmured:

"Mr. President, are you sure about this?"

President Vinzer Deling's dark hair was much shorter than it had been in his revolutionary days, and the youthful twinkle had long since faded from his eyes: replaced by calm, calculating, and vastly intelligent look. Time had not harmed his body; his back was as straight as ever, and he stood tall, conveying a sense of hidden strength. His suit concealed a wiry but tightly-muscled frame that could still easily snap a neck or two if needed.

Deling nodded, his lips curling into a vague mockery of his old smile. "But of course, Rhys," his voice, smoother and silkier than it had ever been before, replied.

Time seemed to have had the opposite effect on the former colonel. Since that fateful day when his troops had shot an innocent woman, Rhys Caraway had been promoted several times and was now the general in command of the entire Galbadian military. But even as his rank had increased, his appearance had grown steadily worse. His eyes had sunk deep into his face, giving him a haggard, cadaverous look, and his hair had turned from entirely black to almost completely gray in a mere fifteen years. His skin was wrinkled and sickly, and he looked, above all else, _tired_. And it was not the temporary tiredness of overwork or sleep-deprivation, which could be cured by flopping, exhausted, into a bed and snoring half a day away. No, this tiredness went deeper. He was not tired of his job; he was tired of life itself.

"If you say so, sir," Caraway said, turning his eyes back to watch the great Estharian ship, now as still and silent as a tomb.

"I do say so," Deling answered firmly. Just then, a metallic screech came from the ship, and a portion of its belly fell down, forming a ramp. A woman, flanked by two Estharian soldiers in their characteristic insect-like helmets, appeared at the top.

She strolled slowly down, her long, low-cut black dress and wavy auburn hair trailing behind her, and stopped just before reaching the concrete, blinking as the sun temporarily blinded her soft blue eyes. As they slowly adjusted, they fell on President Deling, and her red lips broke into a dazzling smile.

"Ah, Vinzer," she purred suggestively, extending her creamy left hand. "It's been too long."

Deling smoothly stepped forward and bent down to kiss her hand. "Indeed it has, Lady Adel," he said, helping her step down from the ramp to the airstrip. "And how goes life in Esthar?"

The Queen of Esthar acquiesced to being led to the black presidential limousine parked beside the airstrip, her guards trailing behind her. "Not bad," she said carelessly as Deling opened the door for her. "The peasants have been restless lately, but..." She grinned, her eyes dancing with a lively light. "I think our little plan will solve that problem."

"Indeed," Deling replied as she slid comfortably inside, her bodyguards quickly following. "Give them an enemy outside to focus on, and they will soon forget their enemies inside. _You_ taught me that." His voice sank to a whisper at the end, and he swung inside as well, closing the door behind them.

General Caraway watched, befuddled, as the limousine drove away, then made his way to the Galbadian military vehicle that awaited him on the opposite side of the airstrip; his mind was working furiously.

_What the hell was that all about?_

* * *

Squall awoke to the soft, gurgling sound of flowing water, and guessed that he was near a creek. As he opened his eyes, light flooded in and triggered a sudden, splitting headache, making him wince in pain and squeeze his eyes shut again.

"Hey there," he heard a light, definitely female voice say. "So you finally decided to come around."

Squall opened his eyes more carefully this time, using the back of his hand to block the sun as he squinted at the indistinct green shapes around him. Gradually, they came into focus, and he realized that they were tall, ancient trees. For the first time, he noticed the springy grass beneath his skin and decided that they had to be in a forest.

Growling, he tried to haul himself up into a sitting position and immediately felt a stab of pain in his spine. He howled and fell heavily onto his back, resulting in still more pain. Through a haze, he heard a set of footsteps rapidly approaching and tried to sit up once more, only to feel a hand press to his chest and hold him firmly on the ground.

"Oh no you don't," the same voice said sternly. As Squall's vision focused once again, he found himself staring into a pair of concerned chocolate eyes.

"Rinoa?" he groaned, his head swimming as his headache attacked with renewed ferocity. "Where are we? How did we get here? What—"

"Whoa, Squall, slow down!" Squall could see that, despite her commanding tone, Rinoa was smiling. She put a finger to his lips and Squall felt an odd thrill roll through his body. He instantly shut up.

"You were pretty banged up after we jumped off that train," Rinoa said, the smile on her face quickly morphing back into a look of concern. "Luck of the draw, I guess, because I was fine. Anyways, I dragged you out here where we'd be at least a little bit safer. You had me pretty worried for awhile." Her hand slid up his face and she started absentmindedly playing with his hair, her eyes still fixed on his.

"Sorry," Squall sighed unthinkingly. Rinoa cocked her head.

"What for?"

"Everything."

Incredibly, Rinoa giggled. "Sorry, Squall, but you're gonna have to be a _little _more specific."

Squall rolled his eyes. "For screwing up, then. For making _you_ have to take care of _me_. For being a goddamn _liability_."

Rinoa's eyes darkened and she stood up suddenly, folding her arms and frowning furiously. "Is that what you all think of yourselves as?" she demanded. "_Liabilities_? Hyne, no wonder you wanted to get the hell away from the WLA—"

_The WLA._

A wave of emotions passed over Squall, from guilt for leaving his squad behind, to anger at Seifer for his betrayal, to sorrow over the knowledge that the place that had become the closest thing to a home for him was now hostile territory.

_Stupid, _he thought savagely. _Stupid, stupid, STUPID! After everything Melbourne did for you, after he took you in and gave you a place to live and eat and sleep, you go and turn your back on him over some bird you don't even know, much less care about. And what about Irvine, Zell, Quistis, Selphie? You just left them behind like they didn't even fucking matter. What the fuck are you gonna do now, Squall? Run around the countryside with this Heartilly girl? Join up with her stupid little "Forest Owls" and put up with all their idealistic bullshit? "The means become their own ends." Where'd you get that from, anyway?It doesn't even make any sense. You've been down that road before. You aren't going there again._

Without warning, Squall jerked up into a sitting position, ignoring the stab of pain and Rinoa's cries of objection. All emotions faded away, replaced by a raw determination.

He would get back to Winhill. He would go straight to Melbourne and throw himself on his mercy. He would fix all these stupid mistakes.

He had to.

* * *

Captain Biggs sighed and rubbed his forehead with a gloved hand, nearly fed up with the train conductor's endless protests over the military's forcible seizure of the train. He took a deep breath and tried to explain once again.

"Just listen," he cut in quickly when the conductor briefly paused his rant for the sake of getting oxygen to his lungs. "I understand where you're coming from, I really do. You have to get your passengers to Timber on time. I get it. But there were terrorists _on this train_, probably the same ones that blew up the Dollet radio tower. Do you know how dangerous these people are? If we hadn't done this..." He gestured irritably at the train, now stopped dead in its tracks near the edge of a forest. "...they'd have all gotten away. Because of what we did, we have _five _known rebels in custody!"

"And I'm glad for that," the conductor interrupted, his eyes flashing. "But it'll be _my _head, not yours, if I get to Timber late. After all..." He rolled his eyes and raised his arms dramatically. "'The trains never run late in Galbadia!'"

Biggs winced at the man's sarcastic use of an official government slogan and was about to reprimand him for it when the trains door hissed open and a bound, gagged, and angry man stepped out, prodded along by a pair of Galbadian soldiers.

_One of the rebels,_ Biggs thought as he studied the man's scowling face. His long, dark hair was matted with what could only be blood, and his eyes glared murderously back at the captain from beneath the brim of his black Stetson hat. Biggs had to suppress a shiver.

"Who's this one?" he asked one of the soldiers quickly, hoping to pass off his brief moment of intimidation as...well, as something else.

"We've identified him as one Irvine Kinneas," the soldier replied, giving the rebel another prod to keep him from stopping. "WLA, we believe."

"And the others?" Biggs called out as the soldiers began to move away, escorting Kinneas to an armored military transport.

"They're on their way," the soldier yelled back as the engine on the transport roared to life, before he disappeared into the belly of the steel beast.

Biggs nodded slowly to himself and turned back to the train as the others were brought out one by one. His quarrel with the conductor was completely forgotten as he studied each teenager's face, fascinated.

_They look so...normal_, he thought as two battered women and a blond man with an odd tattoo on the side of his face filed out of the train and into the transport. _Well, except for the I-really-want-to-kill-you looks they keep giving me. Apart from that, they could be senators' children, for all I'd know. _Again, he had to stop himself from shuddering at the thought.

The last one brought out made the captain do a double take. Unlike the others, he was being carried in a stretcher, and had a soggy red mess of bandages around his face. He seemed to be unconscious.

"Sir," one of the soldiers carrying this last rebel said softly, as if he wanted to avoid being overheard. Biggs tore his eyes away from the bloody mound that had replaced the man's face and turned his puzzled gaze to the soldier who had spoken.

"Yes?"

The soldier nodded to the stretcher's other carrier, and the pair stopped. "There's something you should know. This man's..." He searched for the right word. "...injury wasn't made by a normal weapon."

Biggs raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"He was sliced across the face with a blade," the soldier replied. "A blade that left a gunpowder residue in the cut."

Biggs frowned, briefly puzzled. "It must have been a gunblade, then."

"Yes sir," the soldier confirmed. "But...we've searched the train thoroughly and no one has any such weapon on them. So whoever gave this man his injury—"

"—must have jumped the train," Biggs finished.

_Jump off a train that's going at around a hundred miles an hour? Who the hell would be crazy enough to do that? Unless..._

"And he's probably a rebel," Biggs mused. "It's the only explanation for him wanting off desperately enough to risk his life on it. He was trying to get away from us."

"Exactly. But there are no bodies anywhere near the tracks."

"So then..." Biggs thought for a moment, and then cursed to himself. "Then he must have fled into the forest."

"I think so as well, sir."

"Wonderful," Biggs grumbled. "Just goddamn wonderful. All right. I'll take two men and do a quick sweep of the near section of the forest. The rebel will probably be long gone by now, though."

_At least, I hope so. I'm not really in the mood to risk my life today, thank you very much..._

* * *

"Squall!" Rinoa's voice was shrill as she rushed forward, her mouth agape as she watched the injured man struggling to his feet. "What the hell do you think you're _doing_?"

The rebel swayed, threatening to fall over, and Rinoa reached out to steady him, grasping both of his muscular arms in the process—arms that, incidentally, had been left bare, along with the rest of his torso, by Rinoa's makeshift treatment of Squall's bruised and possibly broken ribs.

Rinoa's grip tightened as Squall tried and failed to shake her off. "Let...me...go," he hissed angrily, gritting his teeth.

"Not until you tell me where you're going," the girl replied firmly.

Squall stared at her with eyes full of thunderclouds and Rinoa lost herself within them.

_So...blue..._

Before she knew what she was doing, her grip slackened slightly, and Squall took the opportunity to pull himself free.

"Squall!" she cried again, taking off after him as he tried to slip away into the woods. He didn't get very far, though; after taking a few steps, his legs folded beneath him, and he pitched forward. Rinoa caught him just before he hit the ground, wrapping her arms around his bandaged chest almost protectively.

"Shit," he mumbled. Rinoa giggled.

"You're not getting away from me that easily," she whispered into his left ear.

"Shit," he said again. "Shit, Rinoa, that _hurts!_"

"What? Oh, sorry!" She released him, and he tumbled softly on to the grassy ground. He lay there, panting, as she watched him cautiously.

_Is he going to try to make a break for it again?_

He twisted around suddenly, and she tensed, ready to stop him yet again. He seemed to decide against it, though, and instead sank heavily onto his back, closing his eyes.

For what seemed like hours, the only sounds were a bird chirping and water running nearby. The wind played with Rinoa's hair as she waited in silence, willing him to say something. Finally, he did.

"Winhill."

"What's that?" she asked, eagerly seizing on his attempt to break the silence.

He opened his eyes so that he could roll them. "Winhill," he repeated. "That's the answer to your question. Where am I going? Winhill."

"Oh," she said. Then, she frowned. "Why?"

"So I can get back with the WLA."

"_What?_" she screeched, eying him as though he'd lost his mind. "Hyne, Squall, you left them! Don't you get it? They tried to kill me. They tried to kill _us_."

"Goddamn it, Rinoa!" he shouted, sitting up suddenly. "I _know_ all that, okay? _I _get it. _You're_ the one who doesn't get it. I've been with them for two years, now, and they're the closest thing I've ever had to a home, a family. I can't...I can't leave them. I just can't."

He was shaking. Rinoa was shocked by the intimacy of this revelation, something Squall had probably never meant for her to know.

_They're the closest thing you've ever had to a family? Good Hyne...what happened to your real family, Squall? What happened to you? _

Almost unconsciously, she knelt to the ground and put her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. She felt him tense up suddenly, and almost pulled back, fearing that she'd done the wrong thing. When he didn't push her away, she let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry, Squall," she whispered. "I didn't know. But..." She hesitated. It had to be said. "But even if you do have to go back to them, you can't yet. You're injured, and you'll have to make it to a city first anyway. At least come with me as far as Timber."

Squall shifted uncomfortably, and Rinoa released him, meeting his eyes. The clouds in them whirled even more fiercely than before for a few seconds, then suddenly calmed down as he nodded.

"Fine. As far as Timber."

* * *

_So far, so good,_ Biggs thought, creeping along through the forest and trying desperately not to snap too many twigs along the way. _No sign of any rebels. That's good. I hope my men are having as much luck as me. _

He and his two men had separated for the sake of covering more ground. He had almost wished they hadn't at first, but now, it didn't seem like it was going to matter.

Then, he heard the sound of voices coming through the trees up ahead.

_God-fucking-dammit._

* * *

"We need to leave as soon as possible," Rinoa said, shouldering the small backpack that contained all their luggage. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Squall replied, his teeth gritted as he pulled himself up with the help of a tree limb.

_It makes sense,_ he told himself as he watched Rinoa kneel down to pick something up. _Two people traveling together are safer than two people traveling apart. It's simple. We have the same destination. We should go togeth—oh Hyne._

The object Rinoa had picked up was small, white, and most definitely Squall's.

"Rinoa," Squall said, his jaw working furiously. "Rinoa. Why...is my shirt...not _on me?_"

Rinoa turned three shades of red in less than a second before averting her eyes and holding it out for him to grab.

"Um...well...I had to...y'know...the bandages..." she mumbled, carefully looking in any direction except Squall's. He rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he said shortly, pulling the white tee over his head with some difficulty. "So where's my coat?"

Rinoa wordlessly handed him the black leather jacket and he slipped his arms through it with an odd sense of relief.

"And your gunblade," Rinoa added, holding the deadly bit of steel by the flat of the blade as she extended the hilt toward Squall.

"Revolver," he said carelessly as he took it.

She bent her head quizzically. "What?"

"That's its name. Revolver." Squall immediately regretted speaking when a slow smile appeared on her face.

_Great, Rinoa's about to be...well...Rinoa. Just fucking wonderful._

Her grin was huge as she tilted her head and put her hands on her hips. "You _name your weapons?_"

To Squall's great surprise, a dull flush started to spread across his face. He quickly averted his face, though continuing to watch her out of the corner of his eye. "Whatever," he mumbled almost under his breath.

She acted like she hadn't heard him. "Revolver, huh? Well, it's a nice name." Suddenly, Squall frowned. The way she was looking at him gave him the odd sense that she was..._listening to something?_ "Y'know, it starts with the same five letters as 'revolution'."

_So what? _Squall shrugged, still eying her cautiously, and let loose his favorite word.

"_Whatever_."

A rustling noise came from the edge of the clearing, putting all of Squall's senses on high alert. Rinoa didn't seem to have noticed it; actually, she was walking _toward _it even as she talked...

And then, in a flash of blue cloth whose speed surprised Squall, she was on the other side of the tree, her pinwheel pressed firmly against the neck of a man in a Galbadian captain's uniform.

Squall saw the captain's eyes widen as he raised his gun, twisting it to point at his assailant, and immediately pounced, the pain in his chest forgotten as something akin to panic flooded his veins.

_Rinoa, pull the fucking trigger!_

But her face, pale and shaky, revealed that that was one thing she would definitely _not _do.

Fortunately, she didn't have to. Revolver whirred through the air with deadly accuracy and easily sliced the gun in half. The Galbadian's gaze shifted back to Squall, his wide eyes reminding him of how another's had been, just before he had—

_Not now, _Squall thought, and the memory faded back into the depths of his mind. He pulled Revolver up through the air, pointing at the man's neck...and then the man was gone.

_What the fuck?_

Rinoa had pushed him aside.

_What is she doing? _

As Squall raised his gunblade above his head to bring it down on the captain's prone figure, she stepped into its path and touched him gently on the arm. His arms jerked to a halt.

"Squall," she said softly, her chocolate eyes pleading with him. "Don't. He's unarmed. We can let him go."

* * *

Rinoa watched Squall's face carefully, willing him to back off.

_Please, Squall. We don't have to do this._

"No we can't," Squall snarled with a violence that made Rinoa jump. "He's seen our faces. He knows where we are. He'll lead them right to us."

_Just another example of how the WLA operates,_ she thought bitterly, turning briefly to look at the young man on the ground. He was staring up at Squall, his fear radiating from his body like heat.

"How many are looking for us?" she asked him.

"Two," he said, his voice cracking. "I...I can call them off if you want."

Her heart broke for the young man, roped into the service of a tyrant through no fault of his own. She imagined everything that he had been forced to leave behind...his job? His parents? His wife?

His child?

"No," she said decisively. "Just get out of here. Now."

Occasionally, a person makes a decision that forever changes the course of history. Kings have risen and fallen, cities have been built and destroyed, great mountains have been formed and then washed into the sea. A single act of compassion or of anger, a single phrase of truth or of lies, a single drop of blood or of tears—all may have far-reaching consequences, beyond any that can be immediately anticipated. But, like the butterfly whose wings flap and cause a hurricane a million miles away, these consequences invariably surface, though that time may be days, weeks, months, or even years later.

And, at that moment, unknowingly, Rinoa flapped her own wings.

At that moment, unknowingly, she created the tiny tremor of wind that would one day burst forth and become a hurricane...a hurricane with enough force to topple an empire.

The soldier scrambled to his feet and gave her a look of pure gratitude before running off into the wilderness, the sound of his feet crashing against leaves and twigs quickly fading into the distance. Then, as silence returned completely, Rinoa turned back to Squall.

Revolver hung limply at his side, and his gaze was oddly blank in a way that sent a cold spike through Rinoa's mind. That look...she had never seen it before. It was different from the clouds she had seen so often, and she had no idea what it meant.

"Squall...?"

After a few moments, he finally spoke.

"Never get in the way of my blade again."

As he sheathed the weapon and turned away, a thrill of realization shot through her, and she had to suppress a gasp.

_That look in his eyes...could it have been...fear?_

* * *

Vinzer Deling watched from his office on the top floor of the Deling City presidential palace as the _Ragnarok _rose from the airfield: its engines flaring and sending it off through the sky at a speed that defied logic.

_I will forever be amazed by Estharian technology,_ he mused before sitting back down in the plush leather seat behind his oak desk. He took a moment to survey his opulent surroundings. Gold-rimmed bulletproof windows, rich purple tapestries, thick red carpet, paintings of all the glorious battles of history...enough to make the richest man in any nation green with envy. And yet, as he took in his personal domain, he felt nothing but indifference.

_Wealth doesn't matter, _he reflected. _All the gold and all the fine art in the world...none of it means anything._

Then, his gaze alighted on the black suitcase on his desk, and his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

_Well, I shouldn't say that. Wealth helps a good deal. But ultimately, it only has value insofar as it enables...this_.

He flipped the suitcase open and took in the device within, his breath catching as his gaze passed over the smooth metal, enraptured. He did not understand the mechanics, but he didn't need to. All that he needed to know was that Adel had provided him with the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world, and soon, his engineers, by studying this one, would be able to make more. Many more.

_So this is what it feels like to have the power to destroy a nation,_ he thought, caressing the cold, smooth cylinder that hid the force of a trillion guns within.

_Perfect._

**A/N: So, that's done. It's not nearly as long as the last chapter was, but then again, most of them probably won't be that long. Alright, I've run out of things to say, other than "reviews are highly appreciated." Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	10. Ch IX: Eyes on Me

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the rights to any songs or video games. Got it? Good. Oh, and yes, I know the song "Eyes on Me" wasn't actually performed by a woman named Julia Heartilly. It was performed by a woman named Faye Wong. So, Mr. Corporate Lawyer, please do not believe I misattributed those lyrics, because I just attributed them correctly here. You happy now?

**A/N: **Gracias to my wonderful betareader, Carie Valentine, as well as my equally wonderful reviewers, cerespallas, jellybean-kitty, and x Euphoria. Now, go forth and read!

**Content Warnings: **Swearing. That's it.

* * *

**Eyes on Me**

"_Do your demons, Do they ever let you go?_

_When you try do they hide deep inside, Is it someone that you know?_

_You're just a picture; You're an image caught in time._

_We're a lie, you and I; we're words without a rhyme._

_There's no sign of the morning coming; You've been left on your own_

_Like a rainbow in the dark."_

--Dio, "Rainbow in the Dark"

Seifer Almasy had always looked up to Commander James Melbourne.

He was the only man in the world whom Seifer truly respected; the man deserved it, after all. It was Melbourne who had pulled a three-year old Seifer off the streets fifteen years ago, saving him from a fate of scrounging for food in the waterlogged muck that clogged the alleys of his hometown, as his parents had done until the soldiers came. It was Melbourne who, as the small village that had been the only home Seifer had ever had went up in flames around him, had pulled the young boy from the raging inferno's path.

It was Melbourne who had given him a home after the commander's anti-authoritarian beliefs had captured Seifer's interest three years ago, bringing him back into the man's life. It was Melbourne who had taught him to wield a gunblade against the forces of tyranny and oppression.

It was Melbourne who had given Seifer a reason to live.

Maybe that was why, in the odd dream that had overcome Seifer as he crouched, shivering, in the pouring rain outside a Galbadian military compound, he had imagined that he _was _Melbourne. Maybe that was why he, the eternal rebel, had chosen to follow the commander's every order like gospel.

Maybe that was why, over the screaming protests of every belief he had ever held, over every emotion he had ever felt from fear to love to hate, over every twinge of guilt that shot through his brain like a bolt of lightning, he had resolved to do as the man told him.

Maybe that was why he had resolved to kill Rinoa.

He had loved her, or at least he thought so. No, he was sure of it. What he had felt for Rinoa, he had never felt for any human being before. Most of his girlfriends had just been one-night stands that were a little tougher than most to get into bed, or worse, tools that he used over the course of a difficult mission. But Rinoa had been different. He had been content just spending time with her. Sure, he would have _liked _to have had sex with her, but she hadn't been ready, so he hadn't pressured her.

It had been going so well...until the day she saw him run an unarmed Galbadian soldier through the heart. After that, she had run away, and he hadn't seen her again for months.

He remembered the next time he _had_ seen her very vividly...

_Seifer slumped dejectedly against a column in the high-ceilinged underground ballroom. He knew she was here, not because "his heart told him" or any other stupid, sappy reason, but because Melbourne had ordered him to find her. He knew it, and he fucking _hated _it. She was the last person he wanted to see. Ever._

_But, he had to see her. Orders._

_He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. How had it come to this between them? HE didn't know. It hadn't been HIS fault. SHE had been the one who had left._

_Fuck her._

_He didn't notice the silver-haired woman standing next to him until she awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. He jerked, surprised, and looked around wildly. Then, his eyes alighted on hers._

"_Damn, Fuu," he gasped as his body relaxed. "Don't...DO that!"_

"_SORRY," she mumbled, casting her eye downward downward in embarrassment. He sighed._

"_Forget it."_

_She drew closer, staring up at him. "THINKING?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_HER?"_

"_...Yeah."_

_She stood in silence for a moment, and Seifer's mind wandered, focusing on the song playing in the background. It was some shitty peacenik song about love and money and other assorted bullshit...but it didn't matter, because a fierce urge to just forget everything overtook Seifer at that moment, strong enough to make him want to dance to _anything_...if only so he wouldn't have to do something else._

_Hardly knowing what he was doing, he seized Fujin's wrist and pulled her away from the column, onto the dance floor. They stumbled awkwardly for a few seconds, crashing into another pair. Seifer ignored the venomous looks they shot him and kept moving._

_Fujin wouldn't be comfortable with this, he knew. Hell, she was as tense as a tightrope right now. But he didn't really give a damn. The scared-rabbit look in her one visible eye actually almost made him want to laugh._

"_SEIFER," she gasped, looking somewhere over his shoulder. He cocked his head even as his feet flew randomly on the polished stone floor._

"_What?" he smirked, following her gaze. "Don't you li—"_

_And there she was._

_Raven hair, dark as midnight in Trabia. White dress, riding up her hips with a sort of innocent sensuality. Rosy cheeks, against a pale but not unhealthy face. Spinning, dancing, twirling._

_Spinning, dancing, twirling with Squall Leonhart._

_Blood rushed to Seifer's head, and he could hear it pounding furiously against his eardrums. He took a blind step forward, releasing Fujin and leaving her staring after him, an almost-worried expression on her cool, mousy face. She was _talking_ with that dickhead, he realized. The fucking slut was talking, she was laughing, she was flirting..._

_And then Leonhart was leaving, walking away, leaving her standing alone amidst the tumultuous crowd. Seifer felt a rush of savage, vindictive satisfaction as he saw the confused, even hurt look on Rinoa's face. Suddenly, the rage that had consumed him mere seconds before had faded away, and he could hear the music once again. It was different now; heavier, more fast-paced, something he actually would have liked to dance to. But he had a job to do._

_He wasn't ready to face her yet. Luckily, she wasn't the only one Melbourne had sent him to retrieve._

_So, he turned his back and pushed his way through the crowd, calling out, "Leonhart! The commander wants to see you. He says it's urgent."_

_Squall turned around to face Seifer and nodded curtly at the blonde soldier. "Why, thank you, Almasy."_

"Almasy, can you hear me?"

Seifer's eyes creaked opened to face a sudden onslaught of unforgiving halogen light. He howled, raising his hand to cover them, and felt something..._wrong_.

Something running from his forehead and across his nose, between his eyes. Something long, something stinging, something different.

What could it be?

"Where...where am I?" Seifer coughed, surprised at how difficult it was to talk.

_What the fuck happened to me?_

"It's alright, you're safe now," said the voice, vaguely relieved in a detached way.

It was a voice Seifer knew well.

"I need you to tell me everything," said the vaguely relieved, detached voice of Commander James Melbourne.

* * *

"Squall...talk to me."

He trudged along through the dense forest as Rinoa hurried after him, batting aside the branches before her face and pushing through the hundreds of tiny green leaves that tickled her skin as she moved. She took a breath and said, her voice suddenly much sharper, "Wait!"

He stopped.

Rinoa stumbled forward into him, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Embarrassed, she quickly patted herself down and looked back up, glaring into his eyes.

He stared back for a moment, his blue-gray pools taking on the cloudy, tempestuous look that had grown so familiar to her over the past few days. Then, he abruptly turned away.

"Squall..." Her voice was suddenly soft.

_What's wrong, Squall? Please...tell me._

He sat down heavily on the grassy, overgrown ground, snapping bits of underbrush as he did so. She eyed him warily as he lowered his head to his hands almost angrily.

The wind blew a leaf into Rinoa's face as she waited. She reached up and snatched it out of the air, her attention still solely on the man before her.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Rinoa." It was just one word, but it was _something._

"Yes, Squall?" She suddenly felt very small.

An eternity seemed to pass before he spoke again, his voice oddly hoarse. "Do you know how many people I've killed?"

Her breath hitched, and her mind started to buzz frantically. _What? How would I know that? Why would I _need_ to know that?_

Before she had a chance to formulate her response, he answered his own question.

"Thirty-six, Rinoa. I've killed thirty-six people." She was struck by how tired his voice sounded, like that of an old soldier who'd seen too many battles over his long life.

_And he's only seventeen._

"...Why are you telling me this?"

He sighed. "Because, Rinoa, if I hadn't stopped my blade from coming down, if it had just gone _two feet further_, you would have been the thirty-seventh."

* * *

_Too many people have died._

He had never believed such a thought would cross his mind. Since the day he had first taken up Revolver against its former owner, that lying, corrupt, sadistic Galbadian governor, he had reveled in punishing the bastards that had taken everything from him.

Well, that wasn't quite true. At first, maybe it had been. But over time, he had come to view the deaths as a distasteful but necessary evil, a means to an end. He had accepted the burden of guilt for his sins, so that others would not have to bear it.

_The means become the ends._

Thirty-six faces swam before his eyes, and he shivered, pulling his black sleeping bag closer around him and ignoring the slowly fading pain in his side that had briefly flared up again with the increase in pressure. The full moon rose above their tiny campsite beside the still surface of the great Obel Lake. They were half a day's walk from Timber here, but he had judged it to be unwise to travel too much at night; the ravenous Wendigoes were known to inhabit the Timber region. So, they had set up camp for the night.

As he shifted, his eyes fell on the blue sleeping bag resting mere feet from his own. The soft, regular breathing that came from within the canvass told him she was sound asleep, and somehow, the simple knowledge of her presence so close to him calmed his restless mind and quelled the demons that dwelt within.

He drifted off into an easy sleep, a shadow of a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

* * *

The wind jerked the burning white banner to its full length, the flames quickly devouring the odd black swirl that served as the symbol of the Dollet royalty's oppressive regime. Squall felt the heat pass over his arm and face like a wave as the ashes, glowing red, flew past his head. He looked around, confused.

He stood atop a vast stone structure, all columns and archways carved with fantastic designs. A dragon reared up on a wall behind him, its sightless eyes set above a mouth that released its stone breath, breath that seamlessly turned into a phoenix's tail feathers before twisting downward and forming the body of a long serpent that curled around to bite the dragon's neck. He blinked, and realized that, nestled safely beneath the serpent's undulating length, its spine formed a door.

The wind grabbed his long, dark hair, whipping it against his face, and he suddenly realized just where he was.

Three stories below where he stood atop the Presidential Palace in Deling City, a crowd started to cheer, clapping rhythmically and taking up a chilling, demonic chant that seemed to pull Squall's insides into a knot. Except his insides weren't there; the hand releasing the blackened bit of cloth that had once been the Dollet flag was not his...

Vinzer Deling stood atop the Governor's Mansion in Galbadia City, his right hand curled threateningly around the front of the Dollet governor's silk shirt, his lip curled in a vicious snarl as he looked upon the small, sweaty man that had caused the Galbadian people so much grief. He bent down, snatched up the black machine gun that lay at his side, and pushed the man further toward the edge of the roof.

On the ground, the crowd repeated, over and over:

"Kill. Kill. Kill."

The chant grew louder. "_Kill. Kill. Kill." _It rose up in a twisted crescendo as people climbed on top of cars and rushed forward, hoping to get a better look. "KILL! KILL! KILL!"

The governor's fear swept over Vinzer just as the heat from the burning flag had. Vinzer raised the gun, pointing at the man's face even as his eyes pleaded, _Please, don't. Just stop, I'll do anything..._

And, for a moment, something happened that had never, in any of these crazy dreams, happened before.

Squall felt what Vinzer felt.

He felt Vinzer's heart race, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt him shiver with a sickening sort of delight as the governor cringed, begging at his feet. He felt goosebumps form on his skin as his fingers tightened on the trigger.

He felt it all, and it was..._intoxicating._

Then, Vinzer—or Squall, it was hard to tell the difference now—pulled the trigger, and the crowd below burst into a thunderous cheer.

* * *

Squall awoke to find his sleeping bag pressing down on him with a suffocating amount of force, the dark cloth saturated with his sweat, giving it weight that it had never had before. He gritted his teeth and violently yanked it off, raising himself up on one knee as he flung it into the trees. As it disappeared into the dark labyrinth of a forest, his gaze fell on the blue sleeping bag next to him, and he froze.

It was empty.

For a moment, he felt his heart go cold, his blood stopping in his veins as though someone had plunged a hand into his chest and seized hold of the red muscle. His thoughts swirled confusedly, colored by an inexplicable emotion that was almost utterly foreign to him, a raw, dark panic. He stumbled forward and crashed to his knees, feeling blindly through the folded cloth to confirm his fears, that even after all he had irrationally done to protect her, somehow, she was _gone_...

And then he heard it.

Like a first ray of sunlight lazily piercing through a stormy veil, the soft, lilting melody drifted through the trees, flooding his icy veins with warmth. He didn't know why he was so relieved, why he had cared so much in the first place. All he knew was that the voice he heard then was, unmistakably, _hers_.

"Whenever sang my songs, on the stage, on my own,

Whenever said my words, wishing they would be heard,

I saw you smiling at me;

Was it real, or just my fantasy?

You'd always be there in the corner

Of this tiny little bar..."

He stumbled forward as though a hook had caught him in the ribs and was slowly reeling him in, drawing him lightly and easily through the the branches like they were merely insubstantial twigs. The wind caught his hair, blowing it backward as he suddenly emerged by the shore of Obel Lake.

"My last night here for you;

Same old songs, just once more.

My last night here with you?

Maybe yes, maybe no.

I kinda liked it your way,

How you shyly placed your eyes on me.

Oh, did you ever know

That I had mine on you?"

The moon shone down on the peaceful, smooth mirror of a lake, casting an impossibly perfect, completely round image. Squall's eyes roamed the vast expanse, briefly overcome by its sheer, natural beauty. And then, his eyes fell on her.

"Darling, so there you are,

With that look on your face,

As if you're never hurt,

As if you're never down.

Shall I be the one for you

Who pinches you softly but sure?

If frown is shown then

I will know that you are no dreamer."

She sat by the edge of the lake, her thick raven hair unfurled behind her, caught up by the light wind that seemed never to disturb the lake's surface. The moonlight fell on her ivory skin, giving it a haunting, unearthly glow. Unseen, Squall slowly approached her from behind, his footsteps sounding dull and hollow next to the angelic sound of her voice.

"So let me come to you,

Close as I wanna be.

Close enough for me

To feel your heart beating fast,

And stay there as I whisper,

'How I loved your peaceful eyes on me.'

Did you ever know

That I had mine on you?"

As he drew nearer, he saw her reflection in the lake. Her eyes were closed, her mouth moving slowly as she sang, her soft, clear voice as far as possible from the angry chants of his dream. At last, he was close enough to reach out and touch her on the shoulder...and he stopped, entranced.

"Darling, so share with me

Your love if you have enough,

Your tears if you're holding back,

Or pain if that's what it is.

How can I let you know

I'm more than the dress and the voice?

Just reach me out, then

You will know that you are not dreaming."

He could have said something then, could have stopped her, but he didn't. It was completely irrational, foolish, dangerous, senseless, but...he wanted to hear the end.

"Darling so there you are,

With that look on your face,

As if you're never hurt,

As if you're never down.

Shall I be the one for you

Who pinches you softly but sure?

If frown is shown then

I will know that you are no dreamer..."

Her voice faded softly away into the night, her tiny rosebud lips closing, and Squall released a breath he had never known he had been holding. Startled, her eyes opened as she twisted her head around, and two chocolate pools met two blue clouds.

In the dark sky above him, a ball of brilliant flame streaked along; a shooting star that disappeared into the horizon almost as soon as it appeared.

"Squall?" she asked faintly, and Squall felt an odd thrill run down his spine.

"...Yeah."

"Why are you up?" Her head tilted quizzically to one side.

_What should I say? That I saw her gone and panicked? That I was worried something had happened to her? That her voice was more beautiful than anything I've ever heard in my life?_

The silence stretched on uncomfortably for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep, I guess."

Her lips curved upward in a soft smile. "Seems there's a lot of that going around."

"Whatever."

She swung full-circle on the ground to face him, the soft smile giving way to a look that seemed almost..._sad_. She gazed up at him for a moment, then closed her eyes.

Squall shifted, feeling strangely awkward. "That song sounded...good," he finally offered, not knowing what else to say.

She opened her eyes and gave him another sad smile. "Really? I'm glad."

"What was it?"

"It's called 'Eyes on Me'." Rinoa looked down, her fingers playing with a blade of grass at her side. "My mother wrote it for her ex-lover, a Galbadian soldier who went missing during the first months of the war."

"Your mother must be a very talented person."

A few moments passed when the only sound was the light breeze flowing through the forest. Then, she looked up, and Squall was startled to see the crystalline tears that had formed in her eyes. _What...?_

"She's dead, Squall," Rinoa said, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled to keep it under control. "She died in a car crash when I was five."

_Oh._

"Hyne, Rinoa...I'm sorry." He had a sudden urge to put his arm around her, but he seemed rooted to the spot.

She shook her head fiercely, the tears slowly dripping down her face. "It's alright. I...I barely remember her now. It hurt so much then, but...time heals all wounds, right?"

"I guess." He finally regained control of her legs, slowly sinking to the ground beside her. "Did she...did she ever find that soldier again?"

She let loose a shaky breath and shook her head again, more slowly. "No. They always just assumed he was dead. That was why she married my..._father_." Her smile returned, but it was shockingly bitter this time. "Always a marriage of convenience, of course. She did all she could to forget about her love, and he helped her put out her first record. She never even told me what that soldier's name was."

Squall noticed her fingers unconsciously caressing a tiny platinum band, suspended from her neck by a silver chain. "That ring..."

_She wears it so much like I wear mine..._

She nodded. "Yeah, it was hers. The last thing she ever gave me."

As their eyes met again, Squall was struck by how lost the wet chocolate orbs looked. _It's almost like looking in a mirror_, he thought sadly. _Rinoa...I understand, more than you know._ Cautiously, slowly, he reached up and laid a gloved hand on her shoulder.

Without warning, she spun and buried her face in the fur lining of his coat, unable to hold back the salty torrent of tears any longer. Instinctively, Squall reached around and pulled her closer, softly stroking her hair.

How long they sat there, he would never know. Eventually, though, her sobs vanished, replaced by the light, rhythmic breathing of sleep. He reached carefully under her legs and lifted her as gently as he could manage, carrying her through the trees and back to her blue sleeping bag. As he lowered her softly to the padded bundle of cloth, he lightly brushed the last of her tears from her now-peaceful face. His gaze lingered on her slight form.

_She's beautiful, _he thought. He immediately berated himself for ever allowing the sentiment to cross his mind. _Don't even fucking think about that, Squall. Tomorrow, you'll reach Timber. And then...you'll never see her again. Don't let yourself get attached. She'll just leave you in the end. Just like everyone else._

But, as he stepped away to search for the black sleeping bag hiding among the trees, he couldn't help but briefly glance back at her and whisper, "Goodnight, Rinoa."

His attention was already on the task at hand, far removed from her. Maybe that was why he didn't notice when her left eye creaked open slightly, fixing on his retreating form.

Maybe that was why he didn't hear her when she softly replied, "Goodnight...Squall."

**A/N: HA! I've done it! I have actually written a sappy romance scene! I thought it was impossible, but...there it is! It probably sucks, but as Mr. Leonhart would say, "Whatever." The point is, if I can write THAT, I can write pretty much anything. Except poetry. I'm no poet. Right, so, what was I saying? Oh yeah, so that was a pretty slow chapter. The action will pick up again soon, though. I promise. Review if it pleases you; it would certainly please me. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	11. Ch X: Scarred

**Disclaimer: **Never mind.

**A/N: **Thanks to cerespallas, x Euphoria, jellybean-kitty, the-holy-dark, EmeraldLatias, and Renegade Seraph for reviewing last chapter, as well as Carie Valentine for betareading this chapter. Now...onward to the story!

**Content Warnings: **Swearing and some violence.

* * *

**Scarred**

"_Now she and her man, who called himself Dan, were in the next room at the hoedown.  
_

_Rocky burst in, and grinning a grin, he said, 'Danny boy this is a showdown.'  
_

_But Daniel was hot, he drew first and shot, And Rocky collapsed in the corner...__"_

--The Beatles, "Rocky Raccoon"

The mirror violently threw his image back at him, slamming into his gut and twisting his insides around until he could barely breathe. His gloved hand shivered as it reached up to his forehead, slowly tracing the horrendous red scar carved between his eyebrows and past the length of his nose.

It ached. It stung. It burned.

But all the physical pain in the world was nothing compared to the injury to his pride.

It was an eternal sign of his defeat, his weakness, his failure. It was a reminder that he was not the strongest fighter in the world. And worst of all, it was a carbon copy of another scar: a scar that curved across the face of the man who had brought about his defeat, who had exposed his weakness and caused his failure.

Seifer curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror, breaking its once-smooth surface into a wave of spiderweb cracks. He watched with a sort of twisted pleasure as his face shattered into pieces before him.

_Loser, _he thought savagely, narrowing his eyes at his image. _Loser, failure, coward. What right does your reflection have to_ _be whole when your spirit is beaten and broken like a fucking chocobo on a ranch? This way, at least it shows the truth about you._

"Lieutenant Almasy." The soft, crisp voice punched its way into Seifer's brain as nothing else could. "Control yourself."

Seifer blinked and looked down at his fist, slowly uncurling it as he fought to regain the composure befitting an officer of the WLA. He took a deep breath and tried to form words...but he honestly had no clue what to say.

Maybe it would be best just to listen.

Through the net of cracks in the mirror's reflective surface, Seifer could vaguely make out the shape of Commander James Melbourne standing behind him. Many hours previously, Seifer had awoken back in his underground quarters in Winhill with the commander peering down at him, an uncharacteristic look of concern on his face. At first, he had not had the strength to move, much less stand. But, eventually, he had forced himself up and made his way into the washroom, filled with a paradoxically eager sense of dread as he sought to discover just _what _was on his face, just _what _had plagued his thoughts ever since his return to consciousness.

And then, he had caught sight of the red brand of his own incompetence on his forehead.

He remembered clearly how he had earned it: the feeling of cold steel slicing through his skin as Leonhart's blue-gray eyes stared back into his. He remembered collapsing, beaten and broken, at his enemy's feet. He remembered the most painful part of the whole damn affair: watching, unable to move or act or speak, as _his _Rinoa buried herself in Leonhart's arms.

At that moment, he had felt something he had never felt before, not even for the Galbadians.

Hatred.

He _hated_ Squall Leonhart.

This realization could not have come at a more apt moment, for at that instant, Melbourne conferred upon him a bit of advice that resounded so well with his state of mind, he was surprised it didn't generate some sort of musical note.

"Don't waste your anger on yourself, Lieutenant. The WLA needs you. I have a mission for you, Fujin, and Raijin...as soon as you're ready, that is."

Seifer whipped around fiercely, his eyes alight, and asked, "And just _who _am I supposed to focus it on, sir? I failed you and the entire WL—"

Melbourne's lips pulled back from his teeth in a cold smile as he interrupted. "Yes, you failed in your last mission. But, that doesn't mean you can't redeem yourself. All you need to do is focus your anger on your target: the deserter, Squall Leonhart."

Hours later, Seifer lowered himself onto his cot. Already, he had regained almost full control of his body. He was a bit stiff, but that was nothing a full night of sleep wouldn't cure.

Tomorrow, he was sure, he would be ready to seek redemption.

He would be ready to seek revenge.

Twisting around on the tiny bag that passed for a mattress, he closed his eyes. He felt his breath start to even out and become more regular as he slid silently into the land of dreams...

* * *

The sound of trumpets pulsed through the air, stirring hearts with their celebratory tune. All around Seifer, people were spinning and dancing, rejoicing together in a thousand voices that all somehow merged into one. His eyes scanned the crowd, briefly disoriented, as his feet moved without any direction from himself. He was struck immediately by the crowd's diversity; the people before him ranged from the very young to the extremely old, from the immensely wealthy to the nearly destitute, from the urban elite to the rural outsiders. Age, class, race: all the divisions that typically tore society asunder seemed to have vanished as hundreds had come together to celebrate this occasion.

The setting for said occasion was some sort of ballroom with a high ceiling that opened to reveal the clear night sky. The floor was smooth and polished. Identical flags emblazoned with white trefoil designs against black fields were suspended all along the room's stone walls.

_White and black...the colors of Galbadia. Where the fuck am I?_

The trumpets let out one last wall of sound, and then fell silent. All around Seifer, people stopped dancing and turned attentively toward a corner of the room where a small stage had been erected. Unthinkingly, Seifer followed suit.

A young man, his long hair billowing behind him despite the blue bandanna wrapped around his forehead, emerged from the crowd to mount the stage. As he grabbed hold of the microphone, a chill ran down Seifer's spine. He recognized the young man.

_Oh, shit. Not again._

The crowd remained respectfully quiet as the young Vinzer Deling took a deep breath, his dark eyes glittering. He wet his lips and began to speak softly.

"My fellow Galbadians, we have come together today to acknowledge what may very well be at the same time the worst and best day of all our lives. It is a day of mourning, for in our long struggle for our freedom, we have lost many brave comrades. But it is also a day of rejoicing, because we are, once and for all, _free_. Never again will we be forced to bow beneath the heel of oppression. Never again will our national honor be defiled by a foreign force. Never again will a king hundreds of miles away use us as though we are his slaves."

His voice rose as he spoke, increasing in volume and force until he was almost screaming. "Mourn for your fellows who have given their lives for our cause. But never forget that it was _our cause_ that they sacrificed so much for. Never forget that their deaths were not in vain. Never forget that, after all the hardship, all the toil, all the grief we have gone through, we have at last achieved what every single person whose death we mourn today wanted above all else! Mourn for those who have died. But rejoice for that which has been born! Rejoice for your country! _Rejoice for the birth of the First Galbadian Republic!_"

As Vinzer finished speaking, he stepped down from the stage, and the hitherto-silent crowd burst into thunderous applause that made Seifer feel physically ill. He observed them with what would have been, had he had control of his own body, unveiled disgust.

_How can they all be so naïve? _he wondered. _Don't they know that this son of a bitch is lying to them all? Don't they know that he's even worse than the Dollet king was?_

And yet, in the eyes of the people around him, Seifer could see nothing but pure, frank adoration for the long-haired revolutionary.

That, in itself, would have been bearable. However, at that moment, Seifer caught a glimpse of his reflection—or rather, the young James Melbourne's reflection—in the smooth stone floor...and saw the same look of devotion, of blind loyalty, on his idol's face.

He wanted to scream.

Nineteen-year-old James Melbourne, on the other hand, had no such impulse. Instead, he was picking his way carefully through the crowd, intent on getting a chance to speak with his friend and leader. After narrowly dodging a dancing couple as they lurched awkwardly toward him, he hastily moved away from the center of the dance floor and slid under a tall archway at the ballroom's edge. There, he paused to catch his breath, grateful for the brief respite, and scanned the crowd, trying to spot Vinzer Deling.

"Wow...that was some speech."

The voice was clear and bright, like a bell, and definitely female. James spun around and his eyes fell on the source.

Dark, almost black, curls cascaded over her smooth shoulders. A thin strap, looped around the back of her neck, held a tight-fitting red dress in place over her body. Blue eyes twinkled in their sockets like a pair of faraway stars. One corner of a small, very red pair of lips twisted upwards in an ironic half-smile.

"Ah...yeah," James stammered in response, his eyes traveling over every curve of her body. She looked a few years younger than him. Seventeen, maybe? "Yeah. After a speech like that, Deling's a shoe-in for the presidency."

Seifer's mind groaned. _A shoe-in? For Hyne's sake, Commander, stop talking like such a damn moron._

The half-smile remained on the woman's face as she replied, "Well, I'd think so, considering the fact that he's the only person on the ballot."

"Right, right, right," James said quickly, his face turning a brighter shade of red.

"He wants to talk to you, by the way," she continued, turning away. "He's offering you a post in the new Galbadian Army."

"Oh! Really? That's...that's good," James said as she started to move back onto the dance floor. "Hey! Hey, wait!"

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, a bemused look on her face. James crossed the distance between them in two long steps and held out a hand.

"I'm James," he said breathlessly. "James Melbourne."

Her lip twitched as she took his hand. "And I'm Elaine," she said, mimicking his tone as she spoke. "Elaine Leonhart."

* * *

Timber had a long history of resisting authority.

From the winding cobblestone streets that seemed to go everywhere and nowhere, to the confused jumble of unrelated buildings, to the erratic, undisciplined movements of the people themselves, everything about Timber spoke of a profound disdain for central planning of any sort. A hotel was nestled in between a pair of weapons shops; a bar sat in the middle of what seemed to be a mostly residential area. True, when Galbadian soldiers passed by, people shrank submissively into the shadows; but they did so with the cold, bitter flames of hatred in their eyes, staring back at their oppressors like snakes waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Even the city's blue-and-yellow flag, by featuring a prominent wheel in between the spokes of an old-style capital T, seemed to symbolize the profound importance of the individual to Timber's culture; for what could represent innovation better than the wheel, the great invention that had been the product of many years of trial and error by primitive individuals in a bygone age?

As Squall, covered securely in a cloak that hid his face, casually joined the stream of people entering the city under the watchful eyes of the a pair of Galbadian officers, he understood, for the first time, exactly why Timber had served as main center for revolutionary sentiment against Galbadian imperialism. The people of Timber had never allowed authority to gain much of a foothold in years past; why would the Galbadian occupation have changed that?

And then Squall was inside the city, and all philosophical thoughts were driven from his mind.

_This isn't the time for thought. It's the time for action._

As soon as he was sure the guards had stopped watching, he ducked out of the crowd and into a dark alleyway off the main thoroughfare. After a few seconds, a second cloaked figure darted into the alley. The figure pushed her hood back, and a mass of raven hair tumbled out of her shoulders.

"See?" Rinoa grinned. "Told you it would be easy."

Squall scowled. "It was too easy. Why didn't those guards stop us?"

Rinoa sighed. "Squall, they're not worried about the people that are _entering_ Timber. They're worried about the people that are _leaving_. Now, if you'll follow me..." She started to walk back out into the main street.

Squall didn't move.

Rinoa stopped and cast a glance over her shoulder. "If you don't hurry up, I'm going to leave you behind!"

Squall folded his arms. "I told you I'd come with you as far as Timber. We're here."

Rinoa turned fully around, a stunned expression on her face. "Oh."

She reached up and started to fiddle unconsciously with her mother's ring, her lips trembling slightly. "So, then..."

"So, then," Squall repeated, staring at her flushed cheeks. His heart was beating unusually rapidly.

"So I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah." Squall averted his eyes; for some reason, he found it difficult to look at her at that moment. His gaze fell on a newspaper that lay on the ground, half-buried in the mud. He briefly took in what little he could see of the front page. "The Timber Maniacs," the masthead read. Beneath that, a single headline: "Terrorists captured aboard train to Timber..." He blinked.

_What?_

"Squall, I..." Rinoa's voice sounded oddly choked, but Squall didn't dwell on her words. He was too busy dropping to his knees, frantically grasping at the newspaper. The mud released it with a loud sucking sound, and he quickly scanned the top story. As he read, his face turned pale.

"Squall? What is it?"

Wordlessly, Squall tossed the newspaper in Rinoa's direction. She caught it effortlessly and flipped it over to read the front page. Then, she gasped in horror.

"Oh no..."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as the train coasted out of Timber Station, bound for Deling City. Rinoa risked a glance at Squall, who sat on the bench across from her, deep in thought.

They were in one of the train's smallest, least expensive cabins; it had been necessary to avoid unwanted attention. As such, the cabin sported no furnishings other than a pair of long, bench seats running parallel to each other along two walls. The window was open, letting in a strong breeze that prevented the room from becoming stiflingly hot.

Rinoa sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and trying unsuccessfully to go to sleep. The events of the past few hours washed over her, almost overwhelming her. She tried to fight them off at first, but at last gave in. At least then she wouldn't have to sit through this intolerable silence. Perhaps it had been a mistake to force him to bring her along...

"_I'm going after them, Rinoa."_

_Rinoa started, surprised by the first words Squall had spoken in half an hour. After reading the story in the newspaper a second time, he had collapsed against a wall and sunk down to sit in the mud, closing his eyes, presumably to think. After a moment's hesitation, Rinoa had followed suit, carefully sitting next to him and drawing her knees up to her chest._

_As the minutes had dragged on in silence, her eyes had been drawn irresistibly to the newspaper, and she had found herself reading the story once again._

"_The Galbadian Army captured four members of a terrorist group known as the Winhill Liberation Army (WLA) on board a train from Dollet to Timber yesterday afternoon. Currently, the government believes two members of this group, a male and a female, are still on the run after eluding the Army's attempts to capture them._

"_'Any information on the whereabouts of these two criminals will be greatly rewarded,' said Captain Wayne Biggs, the officer in command of the regiment that captured the four terrorists. Captain Biggs, who had a near-fatal run-in with the two escaped terrorists, went on to describe the male as 'tall, dressed in black, with somewhat long dark hair,' and the female as 'shorter, with long raven hair and brown eyes, dressed in blue.'_

"_The four captured terrorists have been identified as follows: Quistis Trepe, 18; Irvine Kinneas, 17; Selphie Tilmitt, 17; and Zell Dincht, 17. They were convicted for acts of terrorism this morning and will be executed in Deling City Square in two days._

"_The WLA is suspected in at least two dozen acts of terror over the past year, including the recent Dollet Communications Tower bombing..."_

_Rinoa hadn't been able to read any more. She had thrown the paper down and leaned back against the wall, whimpering that it wasn't RIGHT, it wasn't JUST, it wasn't FAIR._

_And then, Squall had spoken._

"_You're what?" Rinoa gasped, staring at him as though he was insane. "Squall, what the hell do you think you'll be able to do?"_

"_I'm going," Squall repeated, standing up and looking at her with fire in his eyes. "I owe them that much."_

_Rinoa watched in silence as he started to walk away. Then, she sighed. "Squall...wait."_

_He stopped, turned, and folded his arms. "You're not going to change my mind, Rinoa."_

"_I'm not trying to!" Rinoa protested, rising to her feet and straightening her cloak. "But if you're going on this insane little mission of yours, I'm coming with you."_

_Squall scowled. "No, Rinoa, you're not." He turned to leave._

_Rinoa reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "Yes I am!" she insisted._

_Squall spun around, his eyes flaring dangerously. "You'll just get in the way!"_

_Abruptly, Rinoa released his arm and backed away, her hands shaking. She clenched them into fists to try to control them, but it was no use; they kept shivering like little mounds of jelly._

"_Is...is that really what you think?" she asked quietly. "That I'd just be holding you back?"_

_Squall eyed her coldly. "Honestly? Yes. You'd be putting yourself in unnecessary danger. I won't allow that."_

"_Well, fucking FINE, then!" she shrieked, violently kicking the nearest wall. "Go and get yourself killed, Squall, because that's exactly what's going to happen if you try to take on the entire fucking Galbadian government alone. Hell, you'll probably end up hanging right alongside Quistis, Zell, Irvine, and Selphie. But that's alright with you, I take it. You'll be a martyr then, right? Giving your life for the cause; how fucking heroic!"_

_As Squall turned and started to walk away again, a thought ran through Rinoa's mind, sparking a moment of hope. She called out after him, thinking quickly._

"_You do realize you'll have to board a train to get to Deling City in time, right? How the hell do you think you'll manage that without them arresting you on sight? Your description's all over the papers, Squall. You won't make it out of Timber."_

"_I guess I'll just have to find a way," Squall called back, not slowing._

_Rinoa rushed after him. "But I have contacts! The Owls can get us aboard a train without the government being any the wiser."_

_Squall stopped and turned, eying her skeptically. Rinoa quickly elaborated. "You know it's true, Squall! Remember what Seifer said about the Owls having operatives everywhere in the government? With out us, you're screwed. But with us, you've got a good chance of making it to Deling City alive."_

_Squall's brow furrowed as he considered. Rinoa held her breath, hoping that he would give in to reason. At last, he spoke._

"_Fine. Take me to your...'contacts'."_

_Rinoa sighed in relief and stepped in front of him, leading him back out onto the street. They followed the cobblestone paths through the city square and past the bustling train platform, arriving in front of a large pub. She pushed open the door and stepped in, uncomfortably aware of Squall's absolute silence._

_The pub was almost empty; a single, large man wearing a blue cap that fell low across his face was sweeping the floor. He looked up, and his eyes alighted on Rinoa. He opened his mouth to speak, then glanced suspiciously in Squall's direction._

"_Oh, the forests of Timber sure have changed!" he announced clearly, then paused, as though waiting for a reaction._

_While Squall glared at the man, Rinoa rolled her eyes. "But the owls are still around," she intoned. "Cut it out, Watts, you know it's me."_

"_Yes, sir, but I don't know HIM." Watts jerked his thumb in Squall's direction._

"_Well, you do now," Rinoa said firmly. "Watts, meet Lieutenant Squall Leonhart of the WLA."_

"_OH!" Watts exclaimed. "Welcome to Timber, sir. Come this way, sir. Please, please, this way, sir!"_

_Watts dashed over to a small metal door in the back of the pub and flung it open. "Zone and the leader are back at the base, sir."_

_Squall and Rinoa hurried through the open doorway, and Watts slammed it shut behind them._

"_So," Squall said as they started to walk down the new alley they found themselves in, "he's a Forest Owl, I take it?"_

"_Yes," Rinoa confirmed, relieved that Squall was finally speaking. Her relief didn't last long, though, because Squall immediately lapsed into a thoughtful silence._

_Rinoa led the way around a corner and through a rusty metal gate, arriving at the base of a tall building with a long set of stairs wrapped around it. Grabbing hold of the staircase's railing, she explained, "This used to be a TV station, before the Galbadians took over. They shut it down when they discovered it was a lot harder to control TV than to censor a newspaper. The only mass communications media left in Timber is the newspaper, 'The Timber Maniacs,' and the government keeps a close watch on everything they print."_

_Squall nodded in understanding, but said nothing as he followed Rinoa up the staircase, beneath a large television screen covered with static, and up to a corroded old door at the end of the stairs. Rinoa took a deep breath and knocked on the door, waiting for a response. Inside, she heard a pair of voices stop talking. Suddenly, an eye-level slot opened on the door, and a pair of brown eyes peered out._

"_Rin?" a muffled voice gasped. The eyes disappeared briefly, and the door swung open._

_Rinoa smiled. "Yes, it's me, Zone."_

_A dark-haired man poked his head out, a huge grin plastered all over his face. "We were really worried," he explained as he pulled the door completely open. "When the leader got that story in for publication, he turned pale as a ghost! We were sure they'd get ya, Princess. I'm so glad you're alright!"_

"_Um...Zone?" Rinoa asked tentatively._

"_Huh?"_

"_Are you going to let us in or what?"_

"_Oh! Yeah, sure." Zone stepped back from the door and allowed Rinoa and Squall through. "And who's THIS guy?" he asked as Squall passed, his eyes narrowed._

_Rinoa sighed. "He's a friend."_

"_If you say so, Princess," Zone said, unconvinced. Rinoa shook her head and took in the familiar surroundings._

_Dark carpet covered the floor, and heavy curtains hung over all the windows to keep prying eyes out. An enormous bookcase covered one wall, filled with large, heavy books. In the middle of the room was a red couch, large enough to seat four or five average-sized people. Across from the couch was an oak desk, and behind the desk sat a man._

_He was in his mid-forties, with long, dark-brown hair and bright green eyes, and had a boyish grin on his face. On seeing him, Squall stiffened._

"_Squall," Rinoa said, eying him apprehensively. "I'd like you to meet the editor of the newspaper 'The Timber Maniacs', the man who leads the Forest Owls."_

"_We've met," Squall said shortly._

"_I should say we have!" the leader of the Forest Owls replied, his grin widening as he stood and extended his hand. "Miss Heartilly, this kid is my son."_

_As Laguna Loire's foolish grin grew ever wider, Rinoa glanced at Squall in amazement. She was startled by the incredibly dark look in his eyes, the swirling tempest that rose in those blue-gray pools whenever he felt some strong negative emotion. She didn't know why, but she could tell that Squall was not at all happy to see his father._

* * *

Squall could feel Rinoa's eyes burning into his cheek. She probably felt like she was somehow responsible for his foul mood. And, in a way, she was.

He knew she had been right to insist on going to the Owls for help. He knew that, without that organization's remarkably long list of allies, they would never have been able to slip aboard a Galbadian train under the assumed names of "Rachel Hemingway" and "Steven Lane." He even knew that he would most definitely need her help once they arrived in the Galbadian capital.

But seeing Laguna Loire again had been nothing short of horrifying.

He had known that Laguna was the editor of "The Timber Maniacs," of course. He had also known that Laguna was somehow involved with the Forest Owls. But to think that he was actually the _leader..._

It made sense, he supposed. The Forest Owls were pursuing an insane, hopeless struggle against the Galbadian government and were refusing to use violence in the process. It sounded just like something Laguna Loire would come up with: idealistic, impossible, and idiotic.

The last time Squall had seen his father had been in a chance meeting three years before. At that time, he had still gone by the name "Squall Loire." After escaping from Frank Meliora, the Imperial Governor of Winhill, Squall had lived like a street urchin, eating other people's scraps and stealing his way through life for nearly a decade. He had wandered from town to town, and at last had ended up in Timber. There, he had seen Laguna Loire stepping out of the main office of the Timber Maniacs publishing company.

Laguna had told Squall of all that had happened since the day Raine died. He told Squall how Rhys Caraway, overcome with guilt, had pulled a few strings and had managed to get Laguna released from prison. He told Squall how he had gotten a job with the Timber Maniacs and, within a few short years, had become the editor-in-chief of their newspaper. He told Squall of his ongoing search for Ellone, who had seemingly vanished off the face of the planet.

And then, he had tried to convince Squall to join the Forest Owls.

_Of course, I saw them for what they were,_ Squall thought bitterly. _A bunch of fucking cowards, unwilling to do what had to be done to win their freedom. How ironic, considering that I'm on the run from the WLA precisely because they WERE willing to do what had to be done. Way to be a hypocrite, Squall. Why can't you just pick a side? Your hypocrisy could cost Quistis, Irvine, Selphie, Zell, maybe even Seifer their lives..._

Before Squall had a chance to follow this thread of thought any further, the train jolted to a stop, and a calm voice announced over the intercom:

"We are now arriving in Deling City. All passengers, please exit in an orderly fashion. I repeat, we are now arriving in Deling City..."

* * *

James Melbourne stared at the telegram in his hand, his fist clenching. It was short, to the point, and infinitely devastating.

"Commander Melbourne STOP. I regret to inform you that the alliance between the Forest Owls of Timber and the Winhill Liberation Army, while beyond a doubt mutually beneficial, must come to an end STOP. We cannot continue a relationship with an organization that makes use of terroristic tactics, no matter how close we may be in terms of our goals STOP. We hope that you will understand STOP. If you ever decide to reject your current choice of tactics in favor of more peaceful measures, we will gladly renew our relationship STOP. Yours in Liberty, Laguna Loire STOP.

_Dammit._ Melbourne ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the waste basket beside his desk, struggling to remain calm. _Dammit. All those months of work...ruined because of a stupid little girl and her morals. God-fucking-dammit._

He ran his finger through his hair. _Rinoa Heartilly. If only you'd never come here. Then, we—_

_Wait._

A vague memory surfaced in his mind, beginning as a vaporous wisp but quickly congealing into something more solid.

_Heartilly. Heartilly. Heartilly. How do I know that name?_

_Of course._

He reached into his desk, leafing through the files, and pulled out an old, weathered record—a single. He read the title on the cover: "Eyes on Me."

Written and performed by Julia Heartilly; produced by General Rhys Caraway.

Melbourne bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

_Well, maybe all those months of work won't be wasted after all._

He grabbed a short-range radio from his desk and spoke into it. "Lieutenant Stark? Wake Almasy and tell him I want to see him in my office. Immediately."

**A/N: In a way, you could say the plot is thickening, because I'm starting to delve deeper into what's happened in the past to bring Squall, Melbourne, Deling, Laguna, etc. to this point. Or, you could say that I'm just spending way too much time explaining everything, and I should really get back to the main plot now. So...what do you think? Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


	12. Ch XI: Sorrow

**Disclaimer: **Oh, whatever.

**A/N: **Thanks to my betareader, Carie Valentine, and to all those that reviewed the last chapter: cerespallas, Hugh Haiter, Emerald-Latias, x Euphoria, and jellybean-kitty. And now...it's story time.

**Content Warnings: **Mild violence, swearing, and disturbing content.

* * *

**Sorrow**

"_Looking through some photographs I found inside a drawer, _

_I was taken by a photograph of you._

_There were one or two I know that you would have liked a little more, _

_But they didn't show your spirit quite as true._

_You were turning round to see who was behind you,_

_And I took your childish laughter by surprise._

_And at the moment that my camera happened to find you_

_There was just a trace of sorrow in your eyes..."_

--Jackson Browne, "Fountain of Sorrow"

If everything about Timber reflected distaste for authority, everything about Deling City reflected frank adoration of it.

The city's layout was picture-perfect, utterly symmetrical and orderly. The buildings, all clearly separated into specific districts along the edges of a gently curving ring of asphalt, seemed to glitter against the dark night sky, beneath a pale, nearly-full moon. Four lengths of pavement pierced through the ring, intersecting under a massive golden archway in the very center like the four points of a compass. The bright lights of the city's commercial district dominated the western skyline, while the soft marble of at least a dozen mansions housing Galbadia's upper class lay along the horizon to the east. In the north, the imposing stone figure of the Presidential Palace stood behind a high, wrought-iron gate, rising above the cluster of tall trees surrounding its base.

As Squall stepped off the train and onto the wide platform at the southernmost end of the great city, his skin prickled uncomfortably. Warily, he glanced around him, but couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease from amongst the mass of people. He turned around to help Rinoa off the train, and someone else brushed by him. Squall stiffened and reached under his cloak for the gunblade, but the man kept moving; his head hunched over as he mumbled distractedly to himself. Squall relaxed, watching the man's movements.

And then it struck him.

The people in the train station were vastly different in almost every conceivable way: the manner of their dress, the color of their skin, the quality of their voice. And yet, every single one of them was hunched over, moving submissively and cautiously. Every one of them quickly looked to the ground when uniformed officers of the Galbadian military passed, ensuring order. Every one of them spoke in a hushed, reserved voice, fearful of drawing attention to themselves.

While defiance was written in the eyes of the people of Timber, the faces of these people, as they shuffled along in single-file beside the trains, were etched with a very different look: defeat.

"Squall?"

Rinoa's voice cut through the fog that had settled over Squall's mind, bringing him back to his senses. He twisted his head to look at her and took in the concerned tilt of her eyebrows.

"What's wrong, Squall?" she asked softly.

Squall's jaw clenched as he stepped off the platform and onto the dark asphalt. "Nothing."

"It's this place, isn't it?" Rinoa nodded in understanding. "It always gets to me, too."

Squall had to work hard to conceal his amazement at how well she had hit the proverbial nail on the head. His face remained composed as he managed to force out a single word: "Whatever."

Then, he plunged into the crowd, knowing that Rinoa would be following close behind.

* * *

Seifer joined the throng of people boarding the train for Timber, his gunblade easily hidden beneath his trench coat. As the train began to coast out of the Winhill station, he leaned against the cabin wall, deep in thought. Moments later, Fujin and Raijin joined him.

"SEIFER?" Fujin questioned, her one eye wide with concern.

He knew why she was concerned, of course. He hadn't spoken a word to either of them since Melbourne had called him into his office that morning to give him his..."updated" orders.

_Well, I think it's fucking understandable that I don't want to talk to anybody_._ None of this makes a damn bit of sense._

Melbourne had asked him to sit down in front of him. Seifer had complied, curious as to what the commander wanted. Then, Melbourne had shuffled a few papers around on his desk, leaned back in his chair, and casually informed him that Squall Leonhart was no longer his target.

His new mission was to capture Rinoa Heartilly. Alive.

Clearly, Melbourne knew something Seifer didn't. That was the only explanation, short of Melbourne losing his mind. Why else would he go from wanting Rinoa dead, to wanting Squall dead, to wanting Rinoa alive, all over the course of less than three days?

_You shouldn't be questioning your orders, _Seifer reminded himself. _Melbourne deserves a hell of a lot better. You owe him everything._

But it wasn't just this new set of orders that had Seifer's mind reeling like a drunkard. Something else was bothering him: something even more disquieting.

"Fujin, Raijin," he said suddenly, surprising both of his companions. "I need to ask you something."

"Sure, boss," Raijin said quickly. "You can ask us anything, ya know?"

"YES," Fujin agreed.

Seifer sighed and pushed his hair back with one hand. His scar, even though it had closed, still stung like a thousand needles.

"See," he began, glancing at both of them before turning his gaze back to the ground, "the last thing I remember—before I woke up in the WLA barracks, that is—was being taken captive by a bunch of soldiers. Galbadians."

"So..." Raijin said, his brow furrowed.

"_So how the fuck did I get here?_" he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall and startling the other passengers aboard the train. He didn't care, though. The other people in the cabin had probably heard more than they should have, but he honestly didn't give a shit.

He just needed an answer.

And, looking from Raijin to Fujin and back again, he could tell that neither of them had one.

* * *

They had barely left the train station when the stench struck them.

The southern side of Deling City—overshadowed by the bright lights of the commercial district to the west and the arrogant austerity of the upper class homes to the east—was home to approximately eighty-five percent of the city's population. They were the underclass, the workers, the _proletariat_, and they lived in a long string tiny, dank apartment buildings. So close were they cramped together, only a rat could have made its way through the thin gaps between them where all the filth and waste of the ten to twenty families that lived in each building was piled up. Squall had to suppress a gag.

"Hyne," he whispered, as soon as he had control of his throat again. He turned to Rinoa, and was shocked by what he saw.

Her eyes, normally wide and innocent, had narrowed and were filled with one of the few emotions Squall could easily recognize: rage. Her hands were clenched into tight fists by her sides, and her lips were curled upward in a bitter smile. When she noticed Squall looking at her, the smile grew even darker and she said, through clenched teeth, "Welcome to Deling City."

As Squall turned his head away, he saw a small figure dart out from one of the apartment buildings, followed closely by a sharp, female cry of "Kevin, no!" He watched, transfixed, as the figure skidded to a halt in the middle of the street, the harsh glow of the streetlights illuminating its face.

It was a young boy, around six or seven years old, with long, oily hair. His skin was grimy, as though he hadn't had a bath in weeks, and was coated with a thin layer of dust and filth. His tattered clothes hung like rags from his thin frame. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and his skin was pulled tight against his bones, giving him an emaciated look.

A woman rushed out into the street after him and grabbed him up, her hair flying wildly as she glanced at Squall and Rinoa in raw fear. Her bony limbs jerked like a marionette's, dancing on some unseen string—for how else could they have moved at all?

How could those thin shafts that passed for arms have concealed muscles strong enough to lift _anything_?

Squall studied her face and inwardly shuddered. She had probably been beautiful once, if her sharp, well-defined bone structure was any indication. But the way the skin was pulled tight against the bone—the way it stretched over the sharp angles like a piece of rubber—turned it into a sick, twisted parody of beauty: a living testament to the horrors of life under an infinitely oppressive system.

_Hyne, _Squall thought. _These people are starving._

"Please," the woman whispered. Squall forced himself to concentrate on her words, rather than taking in the way she moved like a scared mouse as she walked or the way her limbs trembled weakly as she struggled to hold her son or the way her voice rasped like sandpaper as she spoke. "Please, don't...don't punish us. Please, have a little mercy—" Her voice cracked.

Squall felt something breeze past him and was startled when he saw Rinoa suddenly kneeling in front of the woman, taking her hand gently.

"Why would we want to punish you?" Rinoa asked softly.

The woman blinked rapidly, shivering. "Because...because it's after curfew. I thought you were the police, I thought—"

"_Shh_." Rinoa put one finger over the woman's lip, quieting her. "You're shivering. Are you cold?"

"It can get...real bad in those places," the woman said, jerking her head toward the apartment buildings while she sheltered her son carefully in her arms. "Especially at night. Oh, Hyne, at night..."

Rinoa didn't say anything for a moment. Then, she dropped her luggage, ripped it open, and thrust two sleeping bags into the woman's shaking hands.

"Here," she said softly. "These might help."

The woman's jaw dropped as she looked at the blue and black sacks, amazed at Rinoa's simple act of kindness. She turned her gaze back to Rinoa and swallowed visibly. "Who...who are you?" she asked weakly.

Rinoa smiled at her sadly. "My name is—"

"No," the woman said quickly, holding up a hand. "Don't tell me. You're an angel. That's all I need to know." She backed away slowly, making for her door. "I'll never forget you. Thank you...thank you so much."

And with that, she scuttled inside, quickly slamming the door shut behind her.

Squall stepped up to Rinoa, watching her cautiously as she stood with her back to him, staring at the door. He felt an overpowering urge to reach out and touch her shoulder. He hesitated.

"Rinoa?"

At the sound of his voice, she spun around. Squall was startled to see tears forming in her eyes.

"Let's get out of here, Squall," she said, her voice tight and choked. "Let's just go."

* * *

It was even worse than Rinoa remembered.

_How is that possible? _she wondered as she made her way across the road alongside Squall. _It's only been two years since I left. In TWO YEARS, it's gotten this bad. And the government let it—no, made it—happen._

_Bastards._

She thought back to how the southern quarter had been two years ago. Sure, it hadn't been pretty. Everything had been worse there than in the eastern quarter, where she had lived with her father. But, despite the substandard food, the unreliable heating systems, and the cramped and inadequate buildings, at least it had been _livable._ The tiny spaces between the buildings had been clean, not filled with months-old human feces. The heating systems had been enough to stop the people from freezing at night. The bad food had kept people from turning into living skeletons.

But it seemed that while the rest of the world was moving forward, the southern quarter of Deling City was falling back.

She wiped her face fiercely with her sleeve, letting the tears soak into the blue fabric, and turned to Squall.

"So," she began, giving him the same bitter smile that seemed to have come to her lips so frequently over the past few days, "what do you think of my hometown?"

He turned his gaze to her. His eyes were darker than usual. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then shook his head. "Whatever," he muttered.

She stopped abruptly, feeling a sudden surge of anger course through her body, surprising her. She wasn't sure where it had come from.

Squall continued forward a few steps. Apparently, he noticed she wasn't keeping up with him, because he stopped and turned back, cocking his head slightly and giving her a bemused look.

At that, she snapped.

"Is that all you have to say?" she demanded sharply, looking him straight in the eye. "'Whatever?' Hyne, Squall, those people are _starving!_ Would it kill you to show a tiny bit of emotion?"

Her voice wavered, and she gulped, feeling the tide within her start to ebb. Her legs folded beneath her, and she unwillingly sat down on the wet surface of the city street. "Do you even care?" she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Squall eyed her coldly. "What do you expect me to say?" he asked harshly.

"I don't know, Squall," she replied, her voice starting to rise again. "It's not really about what you _say_. It's about what you...what you _show_."

Squall's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" She looked up at him helplessly. "When that woman ran out into the street, you just _stood _there. You saw what shape she was in, but you didn't lift a fucking finger to help her. For Hyne's sake, Squall, show some sympathy, some fear, some anger, I don't care. Just show _something_!"

"Dammit, Rinoa!" he shouted, surprising her. She hadn't expected him to take her advice; but there he was, his face red, his eyes glaring furiously out of his head. He took a step toward her, and she unconsciously shrank back.

"You want to know why I 'didn't lift a fucking finger to help her,' Rinoa?" he hissed. "Alright, I'll tell you. It's because I _can't _help them. Neither of us can. So you gave her a couple of sleeping bags. Whoop-de-fucking-do. Some soldier will probably just drop by and confiscate them. Or else one of the other people in her building will steal them."

"You're wrong," Rinoa stated flatly. "I'll never believe that."

"You believe what you want to believe, Rinoa, but this is the fucking _truth._ Listen, if anyone can help these people, it's themselves."

"Then what are you fighting for, Squall?" Rinoa had found her voice and her feet again. She now stood face-to-face with him, glaring straight back into his angry blue-gray eyes. "If helping them is so hopeless, why do you even bother? Why not just wait for them to 'help themselves' or whatever the hell you're talking about? Why did those Galbadian soldiers have to die? Why did _Lucy_ have to die?"

That was it. The source of her anger, the reason she had suddenly snapped on him, the catalyst that had triggered her explosion. She realized, with a growing sense of amazement, that it had been in the back of her mind all along, and that child—Kevin—had somehow brought it to the front.

He had reminded her of Lucy.

She was dimly aware of Squall sitting down beside her. How had she ended up on the ground again? She couldn't remember. Something warm and wet was on her face; she reached up to touch it and realized that it was a tear.

* * *

"Rinoa."

When she didn't respond, he repeated it again with more urgency. "_Rinoa._"

Still nothing. He sighed. He didn't fully understand why she had suddenly gone off on him like that, but he knew it must have something to do with his attitude toward the woman and the child they had just seen.

"Look," he said, feeling blindly for some way to fix the situation. "It's not that I don't care. It's just...don't you get that these people don't _have_ to live the way they do?"

She gave a bitter and skeptical snort at that.

_Well, at least it's a reaction._

"_It's true_," he insisted. "I know about the situation here. They make up eighty-five percent of the people in Deling City, Rinoa. _Eighty-five percent._ If they really wanted to change things, they could. They could blow the government away tonight if they really wanted to. It would be like a dog shaking off a flea. The power is there. All they lack is the will. How can I show sympathy for them, when I know that they could end all of this in an hour?"

He waited for her to say something. When no response came, he reluctantly stood.

And then, her voice rang out, both quiet and impossibly loud in the cool night air.

"You say they lack the will. Do you really think blowing up communications towers and raiding government buildings is going to give it to them?"

He stopped and considered.

"No. No, I don't. But at least it's a start."

She nodded slowly, then held out a hand. Squall grabbed it and helped her up.

"Shall we go now?" he asked quietly.

"Do you know where we're going?" she shot back.

Squall opened his mouth to answer her, but before he could, the street was suddenly flooded with bright, harsh light. He spun around, raised his hand to his brow, and squinted, trying to make out the source. His eyes widened.

"Shit," he said. "Shit, Rinoa, move!"

Before she had a chance to speak, he grabbed her hand and broke into a run, dragging her along behind him. His feet pounded against the wet pavement as they twisted around the bend in the road, diving into the foliage that lined the inner edges of Deling City's circular main road.

"Squall, what the hell are you doing?" Rinoa hissed.

Squall reached out and clamped down on her mouth with his free hand, pulling her deeper into the trees and bushes. When they could no longer see the street from where they stood, they stopped, and Squall pulled her down so that they would both lay prostrate on the ground.

Squall looked her in the eyes and mouthed a single word: _Galbadians._

They were in the streets after curfew, and just as that woman had said, the police were on patrol for anyone who dared to violate the strict edicts of the government.

Rinoa apparently realized this, because she grew suddenly still: pressing herself even lower to the ground if that was possible. They waited. For an eternity, the only sound was that of chirping crickets.

And then the woods exploded.

Tree bark flew in every direction as machine gun fire tore through the foliage, ripping into the trees and violently cutting through the bushes. Squall felt bits of bark shower his back as the spray of bullets passed over him and the rapidly repeating sounds of gunshots assaulted his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and flattened himself against the ground, waiting for it to be over...

And, as suddenly as it began, it was.

He looked to his left and saw Rinoa. Her eyes were shut tight and her breaths came in quick, ragged bursts. As he watched her, his breath quickened and a brief moment of panic came over him. Had they gotten her?

Then, he looked down and saw her hand still in his. He felt her pulse, alive and strong enough to push through his glove and reach his palm...and breathed a sigh of pure relief.

"Rinoa?" he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open and met his. At first, they were wide and scared, doe-like. After a moment, though, they relaxed, taking comfort in his gaze. He felt that odd twinge in his chest, the same feeling that had overcome him that night on the shores of Obel Lake.

_Shit...not again._

"Rinoa, are you alright?" he asked quietly. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"Yeah," she breathed back. "You?"

"I've been worse," he responded automatically. He was so lost in those two chocolate pools that his mind only barely registered the sound of footsteps.

He frowned. _Wait...footsteps?_

And then he heard their voices. Much of what they said was muffled, but he could clearly make out two phrases:

"Sweep the woods" and "recover the bodies."

"Dammit," he cursed, standing quickly and pulling Rinoa up with him. Her eyes had widened; she must have heard them too.

"They're coming for us," she said in a voice so low Squall had to lean closer to hear her.

"I know," Squall answered, thinking quickly. "They think we're dead, though. If we move fast, we might be able to get away." An idea crossed his mind: a fragment of hope that he seized eagerly. "You're from this city, right? Do you know a place where we can lay low until morning?"

Rinoa drew a sharp breath, and Squall caught a brief flash of uncertainty, of hesitance, in her eyes. Then, it faded, replaced by a hard, steely look of determination.

"Yes," she said. "I...know a place. Come on, I'll take you there."

She tightened her grip on his hand and drew him away from the searching lights. They stole silently through the forested expanse in the center of Deling City, making their way toward the tall, marble buildings in the east: the home of the upper class. By the time the Galbadians realized that they had failed to kill their targets, they would be long gone.

* * *

Of all the drinks Rhys Caraway had ever tasted, the Obel Martini was his favorite.

Every night without fail, the General sat back behind his oak desk surrounded by the hundreds of commendations that adorned the walls of the large room, closed the long, rich tapestries that served as curtains to cover his windows, and popped open a bottle of the wondrous brew.

He wasn't sure why he loved that drink so much, why he _had _to have a glass every night just to get to sleep. Maybe it was something about the way the gin, vodka, and white wine mixed together: complementing each other and making a whole far greater than the sum of its parts. Maybe it was the comforting, familiar _popping_ sound the bottle always made as the cork flew out. He doubted it, though.

The most likely reason was that it reminded him of _her_.

He had been drinking an Obel Martini the first night he had seen her, sitting behind a piano in the Hotel Galbadia's lounge. She had played wonderfully, of course, but that hadn't been what had drawn him to her. No, it had been the terribly sad, lonely look in her eyes as she played that beautiful melody that had pulled him in like a fish on a hook. He had sat there all evening long, watching her, listening to her songs. And, when she had finally packed up to leave for the night, he had approached her.

Much to his surprise, she had opened up to him immediately, telling him of how her lover—a Galbadian soldier whose name she had never revealed, not even years later—had gone off to fight in the war and had never returned. Caraway had stayed with her that night, comforting her, listening to her as she poured out her heart to him.

She told him how, growing up in Timber, she had always wanted to be someone..._special_. Someone other people would look up to in admiration. Someone not tied down to the legacy of her parents. So, when she had turned eighteen, she had left her hometown behind and come to Galbadia with nothing but an old piano and her dreams. It seemed ironic, looking back, to think that she had seen _Galbadia _of all places as the golden land of opportunity. But she had been convinced that she could make a name for herself in Deling City, and she had had the most important thing in the world for someone trying to make it big: determination. That, she'd had in spades; so much so that even after four years of slogging through the city's music scene, she had pressed on, undaunted.

So it was no wonder that, after her lover vanished and never came back, she practically gave up on life.

It was no wonder that she had grown tired of it all.

Intellectually, he had understood her feelings; how terrible it must have been for her to feel like nothing could ever go her way, like the entire world was dead-set against her. But he hadn't _really_ understood them. He hadn't felt what she'd felt or known what she'd known.

These days, he understood all too well.

He drained his glass, set it lightly on his desk, and sighed, sliding open a drawer as he did so. He fumbled few it for a few seconds, before pulling out a framed picture of a raven-haired woman, dressed in a heady red dress that clung to her figure in all the right places.

He had always loved that picture of her; loved it and hated it. Not because of the way she looked, although she was as stunning as ever, but because of the way her lips were turned upwards in a false smile, even as her chocolate eyes gazed off sadly into the distance. If he looked close enough, he could see that they were brimming with tears.

He loved it, because it showed the real her in a way no other picture could. He hated it, because it reminded him that, no matter how hard he'd tried, he'd never been able to make her happy.

A solitary tear rolled down the military man's rough cheek as he looked at the photograph, lost in the past. His hoarse voice pierced the silence as he spoke to the image of his dead wife.

"Did you ever really love me, Julia? Or was it always him?"

_Does it even matter?_

_No_, he decided. _It doesn't. Because, no matter how she felt, I know how I felt. That's enough, now. That's all I have._

He stroked the picture lightly, imagining that his hand was on her face and her lips were about to brush his. "Even if you didn't love me," he whispered, "I always loved you. I still do."

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the sound of the door opening in the next room. He didn't notice the sound of footsteps in the hall: making their way cautiously toward the open study entrance. He didn't notice when a man, dressed almost entirely in black, slid inside his study, took one look at him, and hissed in surprise.

He only noticed the sharp, harsh feeling of cold steel against his skin moments later, and by then, it was too late for him to make any move anyway.

**A/N: There are a couple of things I want to point out about this chapter. First of all, Squall's little spiel about how the lower class of Galbadia could "blow the government away" in an hour, if they just had the will, is a blatant nod toward a certain scene from George Orwell's _1984_. If you've read that book, you know the part I'm talking about; for me, at least, it was very memorable. Also, the Obel Martini that Caraway is drinking at the end is inspired by the Vesper Martini of James Bond fame ("shaken, not stirred"). Just thought those little tidbits might be interesting to some of you. Anyways, I digress. Please, review. Peace,**

**--Against Everything**


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